Of Death Knighst and Necromancers
by ArtemisJade
Summary: A Death Knight of Acherus tries his hand at doing a favor for a friend. If only it were that easy to be nice when you're a member of the Scourge. Story set before the events of Light's Hope. Working title.
1. Disclaimer

Hi.

This story belongs to "The Cat in the Bag: The Druid Pawn" story, and is a sub-story. The beginning is not really a beginning and the ending is not really an ending. I made it it's own story because:

2-3 PoV is enough for any one story.

The people in this story do not show up as characters in the parent story and vice versa. Only honorable mention is given.

Events in this story to not affect the parent story, but are affected by the parent story.

I left out a lot of background and summary in the interest of not boring the reader and this led to some people not understanding some plot points too well. Most people did not have this issue. I am inclined to clarify plot points in PM if you wish to shoot me one.

Review only if you want but know that they make my day. Clarify my misspellings, misplaced lore, etc, or just tell me what you do or don't like.

This entire story is a rough draft and not a finished work. The heading is marked and the plot is laid out.

Engage!


	2. Chapter 1

~ Author's Note ~

I love the DK lore and their tragedy, though (true to the ditty I wrote before LK was even launched and still to this day) I don't play a DK.

This story belongs to the "Cat in the Bag" storyline though I am trying to write it to be stand-alone as I am unable to figure out how to add it to that "Cat in the Bag", especially since it starts of much earlier than Kayas' story does.

This story is set two years before the Light's Hope Mishap that I'm sure Arthas still thought of as a 'minor setback' even as he was being pwned to death by his own former minions and then teabaged by Sylvanas.

~*~ Chapter 1 ~*~

~ Acherus: the Ebon Hold ~

A long Death Knight sat on the rails of Acherus and contemplated the echoing emptiness under him. Balancing on the ball of one bare food, the other wavered out into the air as if any second he would step off and float away.

"You can't fly. I've told you that before." A whisper of heavy robes over cold stones were all the warning afforded him at the approach of another set of bare feet. The sound of the female necromancer crossing her arms invaded the silence.

Slanted back over his shoulders, the long ears of his race quivered in irritation. "I'm well aware," he told the other Kaldorei, "The facts will not stop me from trying. One of these days."

"Right, then." Eyes he couldn't see narrowed at his dourness. "_Get down_."

Immediately he spun to face her and dropped from the railing, stepping away to show willingness to comply. "Mean." he accused. Necromancers were so damned _mean_. Just because one could control the dead with words did not –

"I care." She patted his cheek and walked away, black robes flowing as she went. The mock loving gesture clashed horribly with the hollow voice. Her plain brown eyes, somehow immune to whatever caused the rest of the living residents of the hold to glow, were sunk into her face too much for his liking.

He watched her go, sighing and rattled at the disturbance to his brooding. It wasn't often a Death Knight of the Ebon Hold got the opportunity to be alone for just a few seconds and have their thoughts. She ruined his solitude and so he determined it only fair he ruined hers.

Silently he followed, feet padding over the slimy floor of the foul smelling necropolis. Positioned high in the skies above a Scarlet stronghold, it was amazing that a place open to so much fresh air still smelled so foul. Of course…

… the bodies laying everywhere didn't help.

"_I've been alone so long, my love is fair gone. The Will of the Master has become my own_," he sang under his breath as one particularly stubborn door gave him trouble. The hinges were rusted in place, as all the hinges belonging to the Scourge had a tendency to do. As he worked the door, certain that she had come this way and annoyed that the closure would open for her and not for him, he continued the song, "_Dashing the foes of our King to dust; where once there was life now a glorious rust_."

That last line needed some work_, _he though. "_'Where once there was life, now a rotting old husk_?' No, that sounds lame. "_'Where once there was life, now the world burns to dust_?'" A little better…

Around a corner, and down a hall covered in glowing black slime he heard the sound of screaming. One of the new recruits had woken up with a head full of memories in a body that bent to the service of whichever necromancer reanimated him. The Death Knight followed the sound thinking perhaps watching someone else's solitude being ruined would make him feel better.

She _had_ gone threw that door he was certain!

Leaving the offending slab behind, the dead man followed the sounds. The hallways lead into the reanimation pen, where the corpses of fallen former champions were hauled in by the cartloads. The place was _rank_ with the smell of decay; floor covered in clotted blood and feces and even the ceiling was caked in grime.

Of course, when everything is dead what need is there to clean anything? Well… most everything was dead.

The little Gnome howled again as strong ghoul hands drug him into the center of the room and chained him in the circle with the rest of those with memories. He was bare down to his boxers, little legs kicking but having nothing in the way of strength.

"_The love of a woman betrayal is sewn; I'll know no release save the Will of the Throne_."

The soft scrape of old cloth on stone was his only warning once again. "Your song is terrible."

Closing his glowing blue eyes in surprise he tried not to show the shiver that ran up his plate-bound spine. "For your, my dear. A ballad detailing beauty and prowess."

"A lion has prowess, Thanis Deadspeak. _I_ do not prowl." She almost twirled around him and went back to her work. The students working on raising up the former living corpses were given sharp scolding for wasting the Gnome; he was suppose to serve as a necromancer himself since he had been a warlock in real life. The turnover rate for their kind was very high, considering the living conditions in most Scourge owned locations, so their Master was always on the lookout for living beings skilled in the arts of mental control. Especially when it can be flexed against another.

Thanis leaned against the wall and watched them. The ghouls drug in carts from the landing deck outside and dumped their contents into the floor. Students then went threw the remains and separated the living from the dead. The journeyman necromancers evaluated the living to see if they would serve their Master better alive than dead and if not handed them off to be slaughtered. If so then they were taken away to private chambers.

The Kaldorei man shuttered at remembering what that had been like when he had made the transition from Alliance to Scourge so many, many years ago. His death and reanimation were the oldest memories most of his kind possessed. The rest were stripped away like so many layers of slimy leaves from a cabbage a farmer intends to harvest and make good of. The farmers in this case were the dread necromancers.

The dead were sorted threw to see which ones were salvageable as Death Knights and which ones would only become undead. The rest were turned into ghouls. The students got the lovely job of rising up those particularly foul and clumsy creatures. For their hideous appearance and want of rotting even with a plague that sustained undead life inside them, they were an unholy happy lot. Truly carefree, which is more than could be said for their makers.

Of the ones slated to become champions of the Lich King there were always in short supply. They needed strength and the ability to wield magic; the needed to be able to be scrubbed clean of all memories of the living world; they needed to be installable with the insane loyalty their entire breed possessed. They needed battle prowess and fearlessness and most importantly they needed to be able to fully comprehend their utter helplessness in the service of their Master. If all of these fine qualities were possessed in one body then a new Death Knight would be reborn in Acherus.

It had been almost a month since any of that kind had been found though. The ones now were Scarlet, recruits from the field who fell in battle and didn't have the sense to somehow foul their bodies with the Light so the Scourge could not salvage them. Just where a Gnome had come from was unknown though Thanis suspected the Argent Dawn might be involved in the workings of New Avalon. Either way, Scarlet or Dawn, they rarely produced a champion worthy of the Lich King. Their will and the Light inside them was too hard to break else their minds were too fragile to survive the process.

"Are you wondering if we're going to get any new brothers or sisters out of this batch?" A heavy hand came to rest on his shoulders. Turning he met eye to eye with those of another elfin Death Knight. The pale Quel'dorie stood half a head shorter than he did, though a few pounds heavier. And not all of it was that impressive silver and black bird skull themed armor.

He clasped his fellow warrior by the gloves and answered, "Yes, actually. She seems restless enough to go looking for one herself if they don't bring one back soon."

Koltira's small smile matched the light in his blue eyes. A Death Knight was forever bound to the 'mancer who raised them and it just so happen that these two had been raised by the same one. "She is in a mood, isn't she?"

Koltira and Thanis were two of the three elves aboard Acherus and got stuck together whenever possible. It was no coincidence they were both raised by the third as elfin minds knew elfin minds better than a human 'mance would. Though Death Knights were bound in loyalty and servitude to the Will of their Master, the ones who had prejudice before they died often kept it after. None of the humans on board agreed with the non-human presence in their midst, except him who chose to slay Koltira for the Lich King. The one who had chosen Thanin for the dark knighthood was long gone some years past, a victim of the Scarlets.

If the humans had it their way Mograin and the rest would toss all of them off the Ebon Hold and come up with some grand lie to tell their King when asked what became of the two champions. The 'mancer they would keep, as she was almost completely purged of anything tying her to an obvious Kaldorei ancestry and acted mostly human. Her want of going barefooted drove the Highlord up the walls but the man kept his peace to avoid adding fuel to the fire.

"I'm working on a song but so far she hates it." The long hair, which had once been a deep aqua blue in life, now hung jagged and unkempt around his armor. The mats and tangles, unwashed slime and gore almost made it blend into equally unwashed armor. Though Thanis was capable of smell, his nose had long ago adjusted to his own stench.

Acherus did not have a day spa, much as one of the human recruits had tried to make one. His insistence that the Lich King would love to have his nails done earned him a permanent place as a decoration on the outside of the enormous steel and stone hold. The bath he managed to fly up only saw use by one person…

Koltira was spotless. His skin was moisturized, white hair gleamed soft and breezy and even his armor shone. The vanity most High Elves had in life did not diminish in death. If anything it was amplified, as evident by the perfectly shaved eyebrows that were in keeping with modern Sin'dorie in the living world. Something about having them 'touched up', as human women were like to do, made the younger elf look wicked in a way Thanis made a point not to think about.

"Perhaps," the pale elf commented softly, "you should not make the song a tragedy. Give her something pretty."

Thanis laughed, "I'd have to go to New Avalon to bring her something pretty. A maiden perhaps, a child as yet untrained in any art and unaware of what lies inside her. That would make her smile."

And that decided it. Even as he opened his mouth to speak Koltira put up a gloved hand to stop him, "No. If you want to go traipsing threw the Scarlet stronghold in search of new servants for Him then by all means do it. I have a training session starting on the hour."

"Private session with Thass-?"

The plated fist that hit him in the jaw didn't stop his Kaldorei counterpart laughing and jumping away from the next swing. Luckily Byfrost had been left at the forge for repairs after their last mission to test the defenses of Light's Hope, else Widower would have gotten a chance to kiss that runed blade once more. Thanis' own weapon he was sure was fair in love with that of the smaller elf, though neither of them spoke of it. When ones weapon has a mind of it's own and they wanted two people to fight so they could dance with their lover it took a strong mind to separate the make-believe feelings from the real ones.

"Off I go then." Thanis stepped away from the wall and the furious white Quel'dorie and waved a dismissing hand as he trotted out of the chamber singing, "_Together and gone, my purpose withdrawn; the touch of my runeblade makes mortals His pawn._"

"Belore, Deathspeak, that song _is_ terrible!" Koltira's mock puking followed him down the hall and out onto the landing once more.

Thanin frowned, not knowing if the other 'Knight meant it or just being mean by saying.

No one tried very hard to hide their want of their maker as Koltira did for Thessaurian. But when a group of people spent enough time together, as they all had in the floating necropolis, there were no secrets.

Thassarian had chosen Koltira and groomed him to be his second. The dead did not know father and son relations; when a new champion was reborn in service of the Lich King they went threw a transition period of being broken as a servant of their creator first. Student-teacher was one thing humans knew well; slave and master was how the Scourge worked.

Of course Koltira seemed to be as young and brash as he was hot headed. Stalking out in front of everyone wearing nothing but those striking blue tattoos and blood on his thighs and turning up a kettle of boiling water over his unwary master had probably been the biggest hint as to what was going on in private.

Thanis grinned as he hopped an unliving mount and flew out of the hold. The chase that lasted all day and into the night had provided the most entertainment any of them had seen since their living days. The bets and booze and whores passed around had been the death of many a mortal occupant of the Ebon Hold.

Even his cold-hearted non-mistress had participated, dancing like the worst of the Shadow Sisters she had once been and stripping down to nothing but fuzzy matching undergarments. Widower had been all that stood between her and receiving matching blood stains that night, though she used him more as a prop for her erotic display than a shield between she and her would-be attackers.

His laugher echoed out over the empty space between the ground and the hold disappearing above him. That had been the turning point for him. The Scourge were incapable of feeling love but if anything could cement a man's loyalty to a woman it was finding out that she was the most in tact and uncorrupted Scourge in the whole of the Eastern or Western Plaguelands. Well, physically that is. Inside she was as much a loyal servant of the Lick King as he. The difference was that she had chosen her path whereas his had been chosen for him.

Down, down and down into the blackness and night they spiraled. He himself could see everything for miles, a gift of his Kaldorei heritage though he was aware most of the others above him could not see two feet in front of their face in the pitch black. Not even the glow of the frost magic that held them bound to their bodies would help.

That is of course why they were gifted with such supreme senses of smell, though most of them didn't bother to bathe and the rotting smell of decaying flesh stuck in their own hair and spikes of armor often dulled it. Again, his Kaldorei heritage did him one better, allowing him to turn off smelling the rank scent of himself and hone in on the smell of living heartbeats.

The reins tightened as he pulled back slightly, telling the bony beast to fly strait so he could follow the currents to better pinpoint his prey. Though it took quite a while to actually find the scent of a living being that wasn't infused with that tainted brand of Scarlet Light, eventually one drifted up to his nose. It was mixed with the scent of campfire and food. Just as he smelled it did he see the winking fire in the distance.

"_Hide in the night or try and take flight," _he sang as he steered his mount to land half a mile away from the camp_, "but Scourg hounds do not hunt the living with sight_." His blade had been left back at the hold but he would not need it tonight. He was as adept at fighting with just his diseases and damnations as he was with blade and rune. Tonight he fully intended to bring his mistress a prize worthy of his … _loyalty_.


	3. Chapter 2

~ Author's Notes ~

Rating kicked up to M once I realized how many adult references I was making. This story cant decide if it wants to be a comedy, a tragedy or drama so I'm just writing as I see it and I hope it works out in the end

I try to avoid name-dropping in my stories for the sake of credibility. However, avoiding canon characters in a place as small as Acherus would be nigh impossible and unrealistic to expect.

Lastly, this chapter takes place the same time the last chapter did, but from a different perspective. This note is to avoid any confusing.

~Acherus: the Ebon Hold ~

The necromancer jumped back at the sounds coming up from the floor. The troll woman by her bare foot was sobbing and puking into the grate near her head. No older than old enough to wield a blade properly she had proven herself in battle already, taking down half a dozen of the Scourge before being taken down herself. Thessaurian ordered her brought back alive so the 'mancers could see if she would serve them better in her current state. Some of their best agents served their Master while still among the living. Herself included.

"Vile wretch!" The slim-coated feet beside the head lashed out, first one and then the other and the woman was on her back choking on her own vomit. "Pathetic, whining child!" _How do these infantile creatures hold back the Master? They're pathetic! _

"Mistress," one of her underlings glided towards her in robes of black and red as befit a journeyman necromancer, "Thessaurian has taken interest in that one and would very much like to know how the Master might best make use of her."

"Useless." _I need to remind Thessaurian what 'useful' means._ "The Highlord's lackey hasn't sent me anything good for months now!" The war in New Avalon was just winding up, they needed more fighters to make the assault a success. Her job was to rise up new fighters for His army, but how was she to do that when they sent her none worth rising!

The assistant was confused, as most of them had a habit of being until their final memory purge when they would finally stop questioning their superiors. The assistant had been a maid in life … that is till the war reached her town. She snapped her husband in two and threw the body to the Scourge before coming willingly to the Lich King service. That was certainly one way to get out of an arranged marriage. "But she felled over a dozen-"

"Luck or lust or whatever it was – it's gone now and it wont come back for Him. Take it to the madam." With certain ire the dark Kaldorei though of the voluptuous matron and how they often fought over the few good trainable girls there were to go around. New recruits were as likely to go to school as to the bed; it all depended on who could muster the most conviction in the presence of the Highlord. The men would gather, bets would be taken and more often than not the loud whore won the prize.

"Yes, Mistress." The young troll woman was drug away by two ghouls while she sobbed and shook with the shock of her situation. It was a good thing she did not speak the Scourge language else she may have thrown herself over the balcony as some slaves had done when confronted with serving in the brothel. For that purpose alone most of the openings around the hold were shielded, allowing nothing but air to pass.

Suddenly there was a dull bash of steal against bone. Turning sharply she frowned at seeing Koltira and Thanis fighting again. How many times a day they punched each other in the face were often kept tallied in various secret locations. That their rune blades were in lust didn't help the situation. Already a blue welt was forming on Thanin's jaw, but she suspected he didn't even notice. Comes with having desensitized skin.

_Stupid boys and your tiny little … swords… fighting each other. _The irritation at seeing the warriors pecking at each other came mostly from jealousy. She was stuck on the ship most of the time, rarely getting to go into the field. Mograin wouldn't risk his only master necromancer and so her battle lust rarely saw use these days. _At least when I served Elune I saw battle._ Such a blasphemous though was immediately retracted and replaced with the knowledge that she would get to fell enough bodies to swim threw their blood once they finished overtaking New Avalon and felled Light's Hope. There would be no shortage of former Alliance champions who needed an introduction to their new Master either; she longed for a time when the workload exceeded the hours of the day.

"My dearest Alonea, you seem upset." The voice had the same hollow echo they all did, though for the Death Knights it was far more eerie than the living servants of their Master possessed.

Not bothering to look back at him she went to the next in the line. This was a Scarlet woman with eyes hollow and blank as she started strait up at the ceiling. "I think Mograin is desperate for recruits if he sends me simpering children who have barely seen their first blood." And by that she meant girls who had bled or boys who had bled. Either were marks of adulthood in most societies.

The 'Knight turned her around to face him, lifting her chin to meet him eye to eye, "And this one?" He had brown hair and blue eyes, an endearing quality in most men, but his face was lined with the scars that had killed him and half of his mid section was ripped away. The plate that bound him together was all that stopped his innards from seeping to into the floor.

Sharp nails wormed their way under the gloves of his hands and found the flesh. They came away dripping blue blood by the time he finally let her go. "I just sent a new whore to the brothel if you want to be the first to taint her, Forbair; mine is off limits."

He chuckled at that, clicking his heels as he backed out of her personal space, "Momma Alonea, you birth more loyal servants than anyone knows what to do with and yet you're standards are so high that I wonder how you don't suffocate with your heads above the clouds." The statement may have been true at the height of the war in the Plaguelands, but with the Scourge winning the day it was no longer the case.

"Momma indeed-" and then she noticed Koltira standing alone on the other side of the room. Not her finest work though Thessaurian had been grateful with how… much attention to detail she had put into that one. Custom made, one might say. "Thanin?" she asked of her soul-son. The singsong elf had been her greatest creation and none after him would ever top the painstaking care she put into that reanimation.

Her second most prized creation smiled and walked out.

"Come now, Mistress," Forbair instructed, bringing the attention back to him as usual, "It's nigh time for your mortals to eat dinner."

An involuntary shutter pulled an exaggerated cry of disgust out of the tall woman, "Maybe one day we'll get a cook. Someone who understands why Cadaver Pie is not an option."

The crooked mouth smiled in fond memory, "I rather like the pie, it goes well with Squeegee Salad."

Bile rose in her throat. Whoever had started calling it that was long since fled once the Mistress heard the foul name. Once upon a time the Kaldorei had held her nose and had been able to stomach the concoction with a large dose of salt and pepper. Now nothing in the world would get her to eat even another bit of the stuff they scraped off the lower landing, where slaves tended to splat several times a week.

The man shook his head in mock dismay as he fell into step beside her. "Fresh meat is hard to come by and I hear women need their iron."

_Nice, thinks for bringing that up when I am about to go eat._. "My moon blood hasn't come since the Master first put His plague in me."

"And other womanly … things?" The gloved fingers of one hand brushed lightly up and down one arm, just shy of the decorative shoulder cutout that would bring him in contact with bleached blue skin.

A smile bloomed on her face, eyes widening, "Have your wrists stopped bleeding already?"

One of the fresh bodies was suddenly on its feet, the broken leg bone of a pervious victim in its hands and was running screaming at her. The master necromancer lit up in delight, sending a shadowy bolt of energy to snake around the thing and drag it kneeling to the floor. "Send it to my apprentice. She needs the practice." The pair of Scourge servants continued their way out. The sounds of ghouls being torn asunder as the chains were released mixed with the screams of one of the novices as she got too close and caught a bone to the jugular.

Forbair held open the door as she passed threw. "Well then. What are your opinions of the Crunchy Casserole?"

The elfin woman's snort mixed with the sound of the door locking shut behind them. "You have no idea what the crunch is, do you?"

They continued on into the hold, headed for the cafeteria.


	4. Chapter 3

"The problem with troubleshooting

Is that trouble shoots back."

~ Unknown, but If I ever meet them I want to hug and French them!

If I never mentioned the DKs last name then ignore this note.

If I have then ignore the previous mention.

~*~ Chapter Three ~*~

~ Easter Plaguelands, South of Light's Hope ~

Thanin Deadsong was speechless. His tall and imposing frame was absolutely immobile, held firmly in the grasp of the chains of Light that snaked around and around and rooted him firmly to the ground. Already the many excuses for how he came to have holy burns from neck to deck were spinning away in his mind. Assuming the lone figure survived the encounter, there was no way he would admit what transpired.

If he didn't survive, well then several of his brothers and sisters in Acherus were about to cash in on long-ago bets as to just how long the Kaldorei would survive His service. His kind were usually too weak to make the transition from tree hugger to life ender. Most of those raised became training tools for the neophytes, often earning their entire race a bad reputation amongst the Scourge.

"This isn't fair." The echoing voice of a Death Knight was not often raised in complain. What passed for sweat broke out under constricted arms and straining shoulder blades, "I wasn't going to kill you." Thick steel of black and silver plate armor did nothing to protect an undead body from radiating Holy magic.

"Maybe not just yet, or not _you_, but I'm sure someone would have." The young human priestess sitting in front of him continued to eat. The heavenly smell of non-human meat elicited soft growls from behind her, enough so that she asked, "Is that you?"

"No." he lied. A blinding streak of Light shot threw his gray matter, piercing blinded eyeballs from behind. "Ok, ok! It's me! By the Throne, you _wicked_ thing, when I get out of-"

The disbelief was hard to miss, "Is that your stomach?"

The dangerous pair of bare hands worked at the Light-made chains as if he would rub them hard enough and they would open, "No-ohw! Yes, yes, it's my stomach!" He blushed, slight blue rising up in his pale purple skin. Since his teeth and hands were the only things he could move he settled for worrying at the chains and grinding his pointed teeth. Next time he would not drop his gloves in the bushes in order to avoid damaging his prey with their sharpened metal points. The burning under his fingers was ignored.

How she pretended not to be afraid of the Scourge, of Death Knights, of the Plaguelands or it's many walking and crawling horrors while still being free to feel these things astounded and puzzled her prisoner. That power – the raw power- captivated in more ways than one and the only though was of how much praise would be heaped upon the one who delivered her to Him. It would all be his.

The child and novice had shackled him, cleansed the diseases he spat and turned him around – shackles and all – to face out into the night and all without moving or pausing between bites. Being treated so casually by someone who would and should be screaming in fear and forgetting the words of her spells as she stumbled backward over the dead bodies of her fellow villagers was … well there was no way to describe it. This just wasn't going as planned?

After a few minutes curiosity overcame wariness, "Are you hungry?" The tone suggested she didn't believe the risen dead were capable of feeling hunter. It was the same tone one might take when they saw a large predator eating grass: just unnatural.

Even as the lie formed in behind the sallow expression the Scourge warrior knew the pain would come, "N-yes. Yes. Ok, I'm hungry. I missed lunch and now I'm missing dinner." _Why did I volunteer that last line? What if she asks me why I missed lunch?_

"What do you usually have?"

Deep and hollow, the voice dropped to a terrifying echo that sent mortals fleeing in terror, "You're mother."

"Cute."

The searing pain didn't stop until his shrill scream echoed into the beyond. Body slumped inward and panting, black tears froze on bloodless purple skin. "You wait," he panted, "when I get out of here…" But that was all he had to say. She still had no moved an inch. _Do you fear anything? You must teach me this trick once we've assimilated you…_

"Here's the thing," she began, finally standing up and turning him back around. She was an average looking human, brown hair pulled back in a long braid that laid over her shoulder in the Kaldorei fashion; brown eyes of the same shade and a good-enough completion, if a little pale from lack of sunlight. Her robes were blue and white in the Kaldorei fashion as well, marking her as a novice priestess of Elune. "You see, I'm on my way to Light's Hope and I was minding my own business till you came along. Now I'm annoyed. Perturbed even."

Hanging limp in the shackles he laughed softly, "Perturbed? You sound like Alonea. She is often _perturbed_." _Her compulsion spell is going to get me killed._

"Girlfriend?"

It was a jest but still made him smile a little. "The master necromancer who raised me. My soul-mother, as you mortals would put it." _I'm not sharing too much, am I? The Master will understand it was her spell… right_?

That had the priestess thinking for a moment as she regarded him. "Do you feel anything for her?"

"Love? No." The absurdity of the Scourge feeling love, at least the ones who were already dead, caused him to spit is gray tongue out in disgust and fake puking. Koltira's habits of showing disgust were rubbing off on him.

"Does she feel anything for you?"

"No." _The Lich King does not love and so we who are bound to His Willl do not love._

She stood and put her mess kit away. "Then why do you bring her up?" She even moved like a Kaldorei.

_Your spell, halfwit._ "I'm going to make a gift of you to her. Not before I repay your kindness of course." The hands that were worrying at the chains turned into claws that snaked threw the golden hoops as if gutting them.

"Why would you make a gift to someone you do not care about?"

"Loyalty to the one who reanimated me. Scourge policy." Soon enough, he figured, she would learn these policies first hand.

Arms crossed over small bosom, "Yeah. I suppose there's a handbook and everything?"

"Shhh. Can't tell." He laughed again softly as he hung his head. The Light weakened him, sapped his energy. He could die the final death if he stayed here long enough. The pain he though would come at refusing to answer the question did not. Curious…

Her observation is one that most mortals came to when dealing with the free-thinking Scourge, "You're a little insane." Not that any minion of the Lich King was truly free in their thoughts, but the Death Knights were granted privileges as His chosen champions to be allowed their own opinions and expressions as long as they were the same as their Masters. If not then whatever memory or instinct causes the opinion to be different was erased.

"_On the winds the memories go, removed like a taint and it's done; You'll know the last strike that took your first life, a body to serve with a soul too far gone."_

"Is that it then? Your insane, hungry, needy for mommy's attention and a flat out terrible at being a minion of the Lich King." It boggled her little human head and she shook it trying to get more out of him.

Unable to lash out to avenge his honor, a new tactic was tried: changing the subject. "And you?"

Eyebrows rose, as manicured as Koltira's back at the hold. "Not about me. It's all about you right now. Lets talk about you."

Something affixed itself into his mind, into that vast chasm of memories that were clouded over if not completely ripped out. A priestess. Of the EluneLight. Yes, he had been familiar with them at one point, had worked with them often in his former life. They latched onto people like leaches, sucking the will to resist out of them until they crumbled down into a sodden wreck and did whatever the Light or that heretic Goddess wanted in order to be allowed release.

Yes, he had known a priestess in his life.

"Don't want to talk about me. Don't have much to say."

He snorted and started to inquire further but she cut him off, "How many innocent people have you killed?"

The unhelmed head shook, filthy aqua hair barley moving under the weight of all the years of butchery and buildup, "Wouldn't tell you even if I knew."

"Resistance is futile."

"That's my line."

She smiled and observed with a voice a little too chipper, "You're an animal. You smell like an animal. You-" and she had the audacity to laugh- "fight like an animal. All teeth and nails, running at your prey loud as the coming thunder and howling like fury itself when you get trapped." She got up and ran at him with arms out strait and manicured nails clawing at the air in an embarrassing reenactment. "You'd chew your own arms off to get out of those chains if you could move your neck." She tsked at him, "Where is your sword? Don't Scouries carry swords?"

The Death Knight stared at her blankly, wondering what a 'scourgies' was. What is it with teenaged girls that made them want to psychoanalyze everyone around them? And a priestess to boot! Sinking into the chains he let them support his weight, ignoring the burning that seared even threw the thick plate armor.

_Dear Anyone Who's Listening, if you get me out of here I shall make a sacrifice of two virgins and an Alteracan puppy. Two puppies if you make it before anyone back at Acherus finds me like this…_

There was an indignant snort at being ignored and then the very real threat of, "I can make you howl again if you need a reminder."

"I would rather the Argent Dawn ram the whole of Light's Hope up my ass than answer your stupid questions." He was never, ever going to admit-

- "I give! I give! My sword hates me, ok. Are you happy?!" The ringing between his ears was loud enough to be heard to the Throne, he was sure. If he though the administrations would become easier to tolerate as he was tested it was false hope. Unlike a good High Inquisitor, of which he had been in the company of no less than two times, she didn't start at a low setting and build. She cranked it up to ten at the get-go and only wound down as she got what she wanted. In this case an explanation of why he was weaponless.

"Seriously?" A handkerchief was out dabbing at the frozen tears on his cheeks.

He pulled back as hard as he could but could not move far, a feral threat growled from deep within, "Can't stand to see your victim cry?" Though the irony of this turn of events was not lost on him. There would be no rescue party coming for a long mongrel warrior too weak to fight off a novice priestess by himself but if he made it out of this and they ever found out there was no way to live it down.

It was worse than the time an assassin made it into the hold looking to kill the man who murdered his father. Only he stumble into the brothel instead and wound up married to the matron. Said matron, a fierce troll woman of the Amani variety, was still looking for a good Scourge lawyer to annul it. So far her series of pregnancies and half-human offspring were all that stood between her and proving her marriage to the human was never consummated.

"You're a weakling. Why do they even keep you?"

He didn't answer. Didn't dare even think of why they kept him.

"Say?"

Still nothing.

When he stopped screaming she dabbed more pain from his face. This time he didn't resist. "You're a bit of a masochist, you know that?"

"You think you're the worst pain I have had to deal with? _Look at me!" _She was, had been since the beginning. Maybe if he though it hard enough there would still be a chance he could turn this situation around. Ha!

"How many innocent lives have you taken?"

"One hundred and twenty nine." Almost as soon as they words left his mouth the world bleached white again as Light exploded inside his skull. He felt it coming though and gritted his teeth against it. By the Throne, if he could take the pain dished out by the one who broke him to the Master's Will he could damn sure take this!

… for about four more seconds.

"I don't know!" He sobbed down the front of his armor disheartened, "Ok, are you happy? I don't know." The truth was that he couldn't remember. There were so many names and so many faces, all of it a blur. If it ever became too much a trip to his mistress was undertaken and she would take every memory and rip them right out of him. There was no such thing as a guilt-free man, the Scourge were like to say, only the one who cannot remember the crimes he has committed.

"Why do you care so much if I'm happy?" The hand she held out was snatched back more than once as he tried to bite her. She settled for dabbing his armor and then gave up after one pat. There was just too much organic matter to make a difference. "You've asked me that several times already."

"Why are you torturing me? What do you care? One little priestess all alone in the middle of the Big Bad Woods; this isn't your mother's back yard, little girl. You should be tucked in bed somewhere safe, not out here by your lonesome."

"Who taught you how to speak Common?"

His frustrated growl made her step back with the handkerchief halfway to his face again. She took it back and threw it in the fire, too soiled to be much use anymore. The smoke of the little white square went up into the night and disappeared in the plagued clouds that covered the entire land.

"Say?"

"Kaydos."

"Teacher? Lover? Friend?"

"The one who chose me for His service and slew me." The memories of himself as he had been in life tried to drift up but the holes in the recollection made it choppy, like watching a damaged moving-picture crystal.

"Why would they teach you Common after you were created?"

He didn't answer at first but instinctively knew the pain would come if he did not give her something, "It's a long story. The one who raised me took everything, even my language. I suppose at one point I spoke Darnassian. I don't anymore."

She gasped in shock. He grinned. "Who has that kind of power?"

It was not within the ability of most necromancers, certainly none that were known, to take memories that ran so deep they were instinct. Even people with amnesia could still speak their native language. Some could even write their language. The ability to change instincts both frightened and fascinated the priestess in front of him.

"I think you will make an excellent necromancer if they do not make you a Death Knight," he tilted his head to gaze at her threw matted lashes. "The Mistress is dissatisfied with her current apprentice. And not just because her spell keep hitting herself on an hourly basis."

"Why would she do that?" Her ability to focus made her captive scowl. "What is the purpose of taking your language?"

"If you are going to erase who someone is, you need to start from the beginning." This conversation was turning way too civil for his tastes; "Babies recognize simple words within the first few weeks. Smell and sight and sound aside, because you can't really erase that, language is the first thing you learn as an infant."

"She was trying to destroy you?" The horror of the words squeaking out a gasp was a comfort to him; he felt safer when someone was aghast and afraid.

"On the contrary," he corrected with a loving smile and a warm memory, "she built me up. I am her masterpiece you see. She was a journeyman at the end of her training when I was chosen to serve our King. Creating a Death Knight out of whatever I had been before was her task, and hers alone, and if she should have failed it would have been the end of both of us.

But, oh my dear… she did not fail…."


	5. Chapter 4

This is the story of a world

That made a river

And drown a whole girl.

~*~Chapter 4 ~*~

~ Acherus: The Ebon Hold ~

If Mograin was the master of the hold then by all rights Alonea was the mistress. The pair ran the place like a well-greased machine: he in charge of the military operations and she responsible for 'hearth and home' masters, as the rest like to put it.

Right now her 'mommy' senses were tingling, causing her to pace the hold from starboard to rear, up and down every step. The only actual children to be had in the entire hold were the half-breed pups belonging to the brothel matron and her unfortunate husband. Said husband had babysitting duties today and was out on the landing dock flying skin-kites with the eldest of his runts.

"Are all of them accounted for?" She asked coming up behind the pale man. He was thinner than she though humanly possible until she realized that he himself was a half-breed. The thought disgusted Alonea but she kept that to herself. His exact lineage was unknown and no one really cared.

The startled man jumped, almost letting go of the kite string. Everyone in the hold wore boots and boots scraped the floor. The master necromancer was the exception, often only the slightest swish of fabric announcing her presence. Even the other elven inhabitants of the hold wore chomping metal boots everywhere they went. Except maybe Koltira took his off for his weekly hot water dip.

"As many as are still amongst the living, Mistress." The flat tone with which he spoke hid contempt and fear, emotions he knew got many thrown from the hold if they were expressed openly. The child he now held firmly behind him stayed put, having been witness to the fate of her sibling who had tried to give the Kaldorei woman a hug. The mishap ended up with the father in the hospital ward and the child in the cafeteria.

"Right." Alonea turned and left, sticking out her tongue in disgust as she did. Humans did not belong aboard the ship, not living humans who served no real purpose for their Master. That the Lich King found the whole fiasco hilarious was the only reason the man and his runts were allowed to live and to stay: punishment for the Highlord who allowed the thing to get into his hold in the first place.

_Politics_, the Night Elf woman though in an inward sight, _I could do without politics._

Perhaps something was amiss in the living ward? Skirts swirled around long legs as she made her way to the quarters where the living guests and the necromancers themselves resided. Her own room, the most lavish in the entire hold, was at the end of the hall behind a spell-sealed door. Along the left and right walls were the doors of the others, each colored according to their rank: blue for novice, red for journeyman and black for masters. Hers was the only black door as the Highlord saw no need for such a small holding to have two master 'mancers when they were only raising one champion a month at this rate.

Her restlessness was felt even in this long hall. Business had certainly slowed down in the last years. Where she had formerly churned out hundreds of Death Knights, each as impressive as the last, once the Plaguelands were fully subdued, the last of the Silver Hand tracked down and dispatched and the Scarlets finally setting up some decent holdings, the flow of fresh bodies had slowed to a crawl.

The guard at the head of the hall, a small abomination consisting of only half a dozen bodies crammed into one over-stuffed skin, banged a gong and called, "Aooll out!" in his garbled tongue.

Immediately the doors opened and any of her students not currently on duty in the reanimation chamber or in the library were lined up outside their door ready for inspection. The discipline it took to just stop what you were doing and rush outside was beaten into their minds and flesh the moment each of them got into the hold. Some of them were naked, having woken from sleep and some of them were fully clothed from just waking up for their shift. All of them lined the hall as if they were dressed neck to deck in their finest.

"Who is missing?" Their mistress called out. When no one answered she noted the doors where occupants were not standing. "Names and locations."

"Setic, the library." One called out, indicating the blank door beside her.

"Marwena, cafeteria." Another called out, indicating the blue door adjacent to the masters'.

"Vanreese, vacation." The third to answer with a wince.

Vacation was a code word used to describe getting rid of an unplanned pregnancy. Seems things had not changed in the hundreds of years humans had been sneaking off to other continents 'on vacation' to take care of such things without ruining a young couple's reputation. If her Mistress knew her well enough however, Vanreese was probably attempting to track down the last of her family in order to give the brat a chance to live. _Why bother? They'll all end up in His service eventually. _At least this way they would be grown and useful.

The names went on, each one having some reason for being absent from the lineup if they were not on duty.

"Dismissed." Their Mistress waited for them to retreat into their own rooms, leaving the hallway empty before she turned to go. Never turn your back on a rival; it was one of the few lessons their King taught them all the hard way. The Scourge do not have honor; the one you think is your friend will gut you in an instant to gain even an ounce of reputation with their liege.

The frustration welled up to a peak so high she though her sanity – what was left of it after these long years amongst the living dead – would slip right down the other side and send her spiraling to the rocky blackness below.

More stalking and checking had her at the entrance to the brothel, the faint pulsing red of the stones indicating the same to the inhabitants of the hold as a red mage-light above a doorway in the slums of any town would indicate to humans. It was a universal call and beckoning to lonely men and women for every faction and race.

Pushing open the sliding stone door and stepping threw one could not help but shutter at the coldness of the corridor, or the sound of the stone _shicking_ shut behind her and locking. Immediately the matron was there, appearing out of her waiting room and not expecting to see the very living mistress of the hold now blocking her hallway.

Long red hair was done in fine braids all the way down to her knees, large tusks carve into bladed daggers and dark green skin was eerily beautiful in this light. The taint of the plague inside her seemed to enhance that beauty in this woman where as it only dimmed it in others. "Aye, mon, ya be here tah pick up one of mah gurls?" The swell of her belly was about to bust open at any moment and was hidden by the swaddling clothes of the child at her breast.

"Are any missing?"

"Yah momma senses be tinglin' too, mon?"

"Quite." _I hate that word. When the Scourge wins this war I will strike it from the known language._

"Ah not be missin' a one, ah already checked dem all." The child shifted and looked at her with half-lidded eyes and then began to cry. "I be needin' tah put dis one tah bed. He been cranky all deh."

The child was not cranky at all until he laid eyes on her, Alonea knew. Children and pets were not her thing. "Very well then."

The two women parted ways, the stone door slid shut behind her and locking any would-be escapists inside. The anxiety was back, rolling up her spine and causing her to move faster threw the hold. Every nook and cranny had been checked; every room and alcove and every…

…. well not everywhere.

The landing came into view a short time latter, her feet flying over the floor in almost a run. There wasn't really a griffon master, just a ghoul who's job it was to unload the bone-wrought beasts once they landed. She plunked her long frame down on the nearest one and dug heals into the flank. It squealed in protest at the rough treatment and shot off the deck.

"Now where do you think your going?" Highlord Mograin appeared below her in the doorway, "We just got a new shipment. I took care to make sure there were no 'children' as you like to call them in this batch."

Her beast hovered over the edge, as quick to stop as it had been to take off. It was the wonders of riding magical mounts. "I return shortly." He didn't get the chance to argue as the flapping creature shot off once more arching over the top of the floating fortress.

Alonea was afraid of heights. No one knew this of course and she was careful not to let anyone know. The wonderful thing about being alive is that you were still able to fear things and fearing things is what made you feel alive. The contradictions the living possessed were why the Lich King killed those drafted into his service and then raised them back up. He did not want them feeling fear; that was unacceptable. The only reason the 'mancers were allowed to remain alive was so that the priests they fought would not be able to bind them and so that anyone who wielded the powers of a 'mancer were not able to turn those powers on each other. Competition for favor was fierce in the Scourge.

She mused as her griffon flew higher and higher over the hold. In the kingdom of the blind the one eyed man is king. In a necropolis those who could bend the dead to their will was king. What stopped the necromancers from taking over is that the Lick King himself put his plague into each of them and they bent to his Will as did all the rest of the Scourge. It was a complicated system of checks and balances.

_Politics. I left Silithus to get away from politics._

Around and around the necropolis they spiraled, her Kaldorei eyes searching every nook and cranny for signs of her distress. Once or twice she saw an escaped slave clinging to the decorations and contemplating how to get down. There were a fair amount of bones from those who had thirsted to death long before their courage to jump had come. There were even a few Death Knight traitors chained down with burning brands and exposed to the elements. Even if they managed to slip the Will of the Throne or have some atrocity of the Light break the bond they were sadly mistaken if they though they could come back and be accepted amongst their former brothers and sisters. Their weakness was shunned and reviled; the Light only worked on those who had a shred of humanity left. Humanity got a Death Knight killed, or his siblings of the grave, and that was not allowed.

None of them were hers she saw. Almost a dozen set of eyes watched as she flew around. If the Highlord had brought one of hers forward as a traitor surely he would have told her. So far she had seen none of the ones she raised brought back and cast at her feet as so many of her sisters had, each of them being held just as accountable for their failure –and the waste – to produce a stalwart servant.

The griffon landed on the deck a few minutes latter. _This is going to be a long night. I envy those who can sleep still and the reprise it brings them from worry. _She was balanced on one food on the railing, other foot hanging out over the empty blackness below her when Koltira walked up.

"You can't fly. As often as you remind Thanis you should know this yourself."

"I feel as if I stepped off I could just… float." The normal strong and hard voice was soft in contemplation; "I was a Shadow Sister before I was Scourge." _Why am I afraid to fly? Where does this fear come from?_

"Right, then." The Quel'dorie's voice turned harsh, "_Get down_." A chain of shadow energy wrapped itself around her soul and yanked. She landed in front of her creation facing him, hands bracing against delicate wrought armor to stop the momentum. The chain released her but hands on her arms did not.

"Mean." She accused. Why were Death Knights so damn _mean_? Just because they could drag the souls of the living all over creation did it mean they should.

"The Highlord sent me out here to quell you." The man seemed genuinely disgruntled with the order, "Seems your riling up half the hold skulking about like a cat that's lost her kittens. You're all but wailing in distress."

A feral smile spread across her face. That would be exactly why Mograin was in charge of the necropolis. Not just his prowess in battle or his military genius, but because he paid attention to his underlings. Especially since that incident with the whiskey still where an entire regimen went into battle knackered out of their minds and he hadn't even noticed. Ever since then he had been keeping an eye on everyone down to the last lowly ghoul.

"Do go tell the good Highlord that I apologize for upsetting his battle-hardened warriors. I was unaware that champions of the Scourge were so easily shaken." She moved to go past him but he caught her arm.

"The difference, Mistress, is that this is not a battlefield," Koltira was never one for the sentiments, "and you of all people should know what kind of trouble is wrought from people acting out. We can't have it in the hierarchy."

The master necromancer looked at him with cold, almost dead eyes, "Release me." When he did so without forcing her to make it a command she relented a little. There was no love between anyone in the hold, least of all 'mancers and those they raised in service, but there was an expected loyalty. All her soul-children were as loyal to her as a slave who had been granted free run of the house by a master who only struck them when necessary to remind them that they _could_ be struck.

Speaking of other elves, it pricked her interest to realize she had not seen the third of their long eared trio in her search of the hold. "Where is Thanis?"

"He left to… ah shit."

The taller elf flew into a rage, "If he's been harmed, if you let him come to harm, I'm going to throw you off this hold myself!" She was furious, voice and blood pressure rising at the same time. The Quel'dorie shrunk back away from her knowing full well she would make good on that threat. "Where is he? Where did he go?"

He stood stock still, like a man under inspection, eyes locked on something in the distance, "I can't say, Mistress-"

Pointed nails sliced threw the air as she stopped herself form clawing his face off, "Why didn't you go with him? You know damn well he's not allowed out alone!"

Koltira didn't say anything. Better to remain silent than admit he had other things on his mind than her rules. One of these days his idiotic soul brother was going to wind up dead at the hands of the High Inquisitors. Their liege wasn't willing to sacrifice anymore of his champions now that their numbers had almost stopped growing and so rescue missions were out of the question. In response she had issued a rule that none of them were allowed out of the Hold alone. Much to everyone's ire the Highlord agreed.

"What has you upset, Alonea?"

The tall woman turned to find Thessaurian coming out onto the landing. The bond between maker and made was strong: he had sensed Koltira's distress the same as she sensed Thanin's. Koltira's proximity helped the older Death Knight pinpoint the issue rather quickly.

"Your whelp let Thanin waltz right off the landing once again!"

"So?" The shock of white hair and beard clashed horribly with the blue tattoos of his face. Her own matching tattoos covered the ones she wore as a member of the Kaldorei race. All the better to help those with facial markings forget their old life. No one knew what Thessaurian had worn before becoming Scourge, though some suspected the brands of a thief.

"So? So I ordered that none of your unholy chits were to leave the ship alone."

"Wouldn't that make it Thanin's fault that he is no longer aboard?"

She ground her teeth in exasperation. "Let's take it up with the Highlord and see who is at fault."

Koltira jumped forward, ever ready to save himself being sandwiched between angry masters, "I'll go after him."

Peeling a glare off the unfeeling human it came to bore holes threw the unhappy Quel'dorie. "No," the command came out like bad gas, "No rescue missions, _He_ gave the orders."

Thessaurian's face drooped like someone who just got handed a baby and hates children, "He's been captured again? And so soon after that fiasco at – where was it? – ah nevermind. He mistook that cow for a horse and rode it halfway threw the town before they drug him down."

Alonea could have punched him in the gut but it would have meant touching that ichor-stained armor. "He was hallucinating for days, running around on all fours like a cat. Who dared him to drink holy water?!"

"Mandy." Koltira answered about as meek as a Death Knight was capable of being.

"And where is Mandy?"

"Dead."

"And how did she die?"

"You made her walk off the landing –"

"Enough!" Thessaurian barked, "You made your point, necromancer. Now leave it be. There's nothing to be done for it now. If he's been captured by the Scarlets or the Dawn then he's gone to us." The imposing 'Knight turned back to the hold and walked away, but not without adding, "Besides, he may be your masterpiece but like any good painting it's only purpose is to stand abound, look pretty and remind everyone what a wonderful artist you are. Other than that it has never served a real purpose to anyone."

Koltira looked as if he'd been slugged himself, mouth opening slightly and watching his master leave. He couldn't quite school his features when his mistress approached and gave him a chilly look.

"He doesn't think my masterpieces are worth anything but looks?" The Quel'dorie was careful not to move or speak under that angered stare. She went on, "You were so intent on getting to your private session that you may have very well cost me my most prized creation. If that is so then I promise you that I will make sure you never have to worry about getting to those sessions again." A hand passed over the buckle of his belt, the finely wrought silver bones glowing softly in the midnight light. The threat was clear.

Even if she were tall and elegant in flowing black robes, even if she were living and soft, even if she were a woman and prone to attachment, she was a one-eyed woman in a kingdom of the blind. None of them were ever allowed to forget that.


	6. Chapter 5

"The thing about disasters is that you don't have to wait long

before the next one puts the previous one into perspective."

~ Robert Brault, paraphrased

~ Eastern Plaguelands, Outside Light's Hope Chapel~

"This… is humiliating." The pale figure grumbled, as he was drug along in softly glowing chains.

"The part where I'm a novice and a child, as you keep pointing out, or the fact that I handed you your unwashed ass on a silver platter with dessert?" His captor continued reading her Light bound tome as she walked, not really paying attention to the captive making a rut in the blight-ridden soil.

"Dessert." He laughing like it was an inside joke between the two of them. "I'm going to remember that when I'm serving your entrails to the necromancers for dinner. I'll call it Novice Soup. They'll like that I think."

She didn't pay attention to him, to any of the babbling that leaked out of his mouth. It was as if he were speaking some half-crazy gibberish half the time and wasn't even aware of what the words meant. "Yeah. That's nice."

"Might I ask where you're taking me?"

"Guess."

"I don't like this game." He frowned and fell limp against the chains, once again exhausted of all strength. "_Where once there were bonds of love and of trust, now lives a soul dying; a heart gone to rust. We serve all the better for breaking the bonds, of kinship and friendship; a soul too far gone."_

The book snapped shut, "Why do you sing all the time? Your songs are depressing. Betrayal and broken promises and_ a soul too far gone_."

"What kind of song do you expect the Scourge to sing?"

"A lament." She admitted but still wasn't convinced that's what his song was, "Or a battle song."

"I've nothing to lament."

"And why is that?" The curiosity of the younger generations often overrode common sense. "Every minion of the Lich King has a story to tell and none of them are bedtime stories for children."

"And yet you ask me to tell you a tale."

The mental slap landed sound; she huffed in response, "You seem very hung up on children. Why is that?"

There was dirt working their way into his boots where unwilling legs drug the ground. At first he had protested being moved, dug in his heals and everything. She picked him up with the chains and just floated him along at first, but then as her own mental capacities wore down settled for dragging him. He could pick his feet up and walk along anytime he wanted… but that was admitting defeat.

"Why do you ask so many questions?"

"I've a natural curiosity to understand those around me." The brown hair pulled back into a bun would have been more impressive, as she lifted her chin and straitened her shoulders in pride, if only it were not coming lose from every conceivable angle.

"In other words: you're a child." He wondered briefly why one would do their hair that way if one did not know the proper way to do it.

Her snort of derision was accompanied by a subtle heating of the brands that bound him, "No more so than you."

He huffed out another laugh, _"When all the worlds is blackened, when all the trees fall down; He who sits the Frozen Thrown will bow the mortals down."_

"By the Light!" His attempts to irritate her were working, "If I have to hear one more line of that song, I swear I'm going to shut your mouth for good!"

"_For love of a child he gave his last breath, a heart beat stilled even at the first death; For love of child she gave her dark life, neither able to love him nor make him a wife."_

All intentions to follow threw with the threat were forgotten as quickly as they were promised, "Is it you or someone else?"

He shrugged, "I arose singing, my master says." He frowned then, eyebrows knitting together sadly, "She doesn't like my songs either."

"I take it she is not as loyal to you as you are to her?" 

Peels of laugher threatened the solitude of the night; undead birds and lizards went scurrying away. Things that hunted by sound moved closer as attempts to shush him were finally met with compliance. The Light-wrought bonds lit up the night as if the Death Knight had lost a fight with Winter's Veil decorations. Finally he fell silent, still chuckling under his breath.

He would quickly learn the sound of her book flipping shut meant more pain was coming. For someone so young and … life-blessed… there was a certain twisted pleasure she took in punishing him. He reveled in it though, taking pleasure in getting her accustomed to hearing victims beg for reprieve. It would come in handy when the necromancers began their lessons.

"So she does not share your loyalty?"

The dragging figure sighed, "Persistence. That will come in handy. He likes persistence."

The book flipped back open and she picked up the pace. Turning the page slowly she leveled her judgments on him as harshly as the Death Knight who broke him had all those years ago, "When I came to the Plaguelands when first making my way to Light's Hope I was given warnings about the wildlife. That is to say the various ghouls, lich, necromancers, troll, hounds, buzzards, abominations – so on and so forth- but all of that paled in comparison to how much I was warned to about the Death Knights. Most importantly I was warned of how hard it is to make your death permanent. That is why I'm taking you to Light's Hope with me. Even if there were a way to dispose of you between here and there I'm sure they are more adept at handling the smarter – and I use that term loosely in this case – minions of Arthas."

The distraught man was speechless for a full minute. "This… is humiliating! A novice and a child hands me over to the Argent Damned like a puppy gifted at Winter's Veil!"

Over her shoulder the priestess smiled kindly, "The wanted posters for Death Knights said, "Name your own Price" for every corpse turned in. They're going to do backflips when I hand you to them still spitting!"

"I'll pay buckets to see that." The mental image of gold-wrapped men jumping backwards off horses filled his mind with subtle pleasure. Each of them was weighted down by armor and ended up with broken necks. Then they picked themselves up off the ground and their armor darkened to black, eyes glowing blue and swards shining with runes. "In fact, why don't you request backflips as part of the payment?"

"No. They're going to help me get past the Bullwark so I can find a friend of mine last seen in Tirisfal."

"Oh, really? And was your friend alive or dead last time they were seen in Tirisfal?"

A long moment of silence and then, "Alive. Mostly."

The Kaldorei's feral grin burned a hole threw her shoulder blades till she turned him aground and drug him on his back. "Most of the Scourge have friends or family who come looking for us after we're chosen by the Master to be His champions. What they find however only looks like what they lost. Our dark rebirth washes away that sniveling thing we used to be and replaces it with an instrument of the Master's Will. I'll wager your friend is no different and I'll wager even more that when you find whatever they have become they will be His friend and yours no longer."

He would have said more but the chain that wrapped firmly around his jaw prevented it from moving anymore. The rest of the way back to Light's Hope was silent except for the occasional huffed sob from the priestess. The pleasure of smelling the spilled tears and hearing the pumping heart heavy with grief warmed a his own cold heart.


	7. Chapter 6

~ Author's Notes ~

As with all locations in WoW the area of Light's Hope in quite small compared to what it would have been 'in real life' due to the need of conserving graphics. There is a Scourge banner not a stones throw away from the chapel when in 'real life' it would more than likely have been several miles away. With that in mind I added in all the 'things' I think were left out of the game world because they served no real purpose.

I've noted there are subtle differences between writing a Dwarf accent and a Troll one. Most of the difference is in the mind of the beholder who would have to know the difference between Irish and Jamaican to begin with.

"Nothing is lost forever to those who do not give up the searching."

~ * ~ Chapter 6 ~ * ~

~ Light's Hope Chapel~

They had felt him coming miles off, each of them readied with sword or spear and shield of metal or magic. Some of them bore finely wrought armor; some of them fought in scavenged, dented pieces. Yet each piece shone with pride, was worn with honor. There was a palliside baridade between the half-decayed haven of Light's Hope Chapel and the horrors of the territory that had come to be called the Plaguelands in the years since the wars began. Quickly the barricade was reinforced, reserves being called from their bunks and barracks. Searchlights lit every corner, the trees being cleared away from the barricade for a full time. Nothing could sneak up on Light's Hope... and with good reason.

Thousands upon thousands of graves surrounded the little church, each and every one a Knight of the silver hand. Should such a catch of the most powerful champions of the Alliance fall into the hands of the Lich King it would all be over. They had seen first hand what happened when a Silver Knight fell and a Death Knight rises. The Light from the hundreds of priests and paladins wielding the power of their calling lit up a corner of the Easter Plaguelands. This tiny little camp of rebels was a beacon of hope in an endless dark.

In preparation of battle civilians were evacuated from surrounding buildings, few as their were, and garrisoned inside the chapel structure itself. Sandwiched between an emissary of the Forsaken and an emissary of the Scarlet Crusade the blacksmiths and woodcutters had no reason to fear either would turn on them in this most hallowed of places. Whai... since when did the the Argent Dawn allow the Forsaken membership?

With civilians secured the chain of command got to work sending orders flowing in every direction. The Dawn was a well oiled machine sending the oil of righteousness to lubricate every link in the chain. Beginner level fighters up to the highest level cleric took their positions, with the long ranged fighters perched atop the palisade wall. Foot soldiers formed ranks inside the enormous barred door and readied for combat.

There they waited for the foe to come into view.

Through the black of night the presence drew closer. The numerous stars weren't even enough to indicate from which way it came, though the lights of the chapel lit up the cleared fields. Finally it reached the precipice of Light and stopped for a moment. Out of the Pitch black walked a lone human girl. Scanning the faces of the defenders in wonder she marked the page of her book with a finger. Never had she received such a … welcome? When she got close enough to the wall they attempted communication.

"'Elo, lass," a gruff Dwarf called down to her where she stood outside the barricaded doors of the wooden wall. "Wha's a pretty thin' like yah doin' wandr'in these cursed woods a' night aloon?" (Translation: "Hello, lass. What's a pretty thing like you doing wandering these cursed woods at night alone?" (1)

"Pretty, young, novice, child," she spat the words in disgust, glaring at the dwarf. She was in no mood to be reminded of her age and status, "What is it with you Plaguelanders and the need to degrade anyone who isn't withered old man?"

The Dwarf spat at being called a "Plaguelanders", as if this were where his mother had squeezed him out and where he had learned to shoot a blunderbuss, "Yah be askin' quest'ons instead o' ans'rin, lass!"

Short hands smoothed the layers of blue and white robes while her spine straitened as befitting a proper female of her race. "I come to seek your help in a matter concerning a friend of mine taken from Ashenvale by the Horde." Years amongst the Keldorie had given her Commonn a slight Night Elf accent, though not nearly as obvious as the Dwarf's slight Thelassian.

"Yah be a loon whey from Ashe'vale, girlie, though judgin' by yer elfie accent yah not be a stranger to em what lives there. Why dunna yeh ask the Night Elfs fer help findin' yer friend?"

The exasperated priestess kicked the gate and then jumped back holding her foot, "Because I can't get past the stupid Bullworks without swarms of Deathguards chasing me down! My friend is in Tirisfal; I need an escort who can deal with the Banshee Queen." Though she pasused but a second she quickly added, "Don't judge my accent when your Common holds hints of Thelassian. Which pretty High Elf roped you into her war and made you to learn the language second hand?" Dwafs of both genders were notorious for chasing anything they deemed pretty – and some that weren't – though they were the epitomize of noble behavior the whole time. Once you made them blush the game was over.

"Aye!" The dwarf would have raised a glass in solute to a memory if he had one. Unlike the people's of other nations, the dwarfs were not quick to anger over what someone else thinks should be an insult, "Oh, but t'at one was warth e'ry minute of tha time she ga' me!" He was not at all unhappy at being drug into a foreign war in the process... A second latter he shook his frothy beard and got back to business, "Did'ja make it tah the Bullworks and the' come all'a'way back 'ere?"

"Yes."

The Dwarf leaned back, banged up armor glittering with dents and cracks in the torchlight. "She's right crazy, that'un is!" He spoke under his breath to avoid chasing off the little human child with his disdain.

The commander of his regime nodded agreement, "Feral children. They can act sane and civilized for about as long as it takes to get inside a town or settlement and then they go wild in search of whatever need brought them there." The face under the helm was grim and sad, the lines of all the years spent in the Plaguelands showing strongly, "Saw a Quel'dorie child once took down four mages one after the other, drained their magic right out of 'em."

"What'cha suppose we be doin' with this'a'one then?"

"Let her in. Better she be civilized in our hands than _his_."

Briskly nodding agreement the dwarf leaned over the gate to relay the order... but she was gone. A series of gasps went up behind him but he turned to slowly to avoid getting her tome to his face. Well, it would it would have been his face if the pot-helm were not in the way.

She floated in the air above him and glowed like the noon-day sun. "Have you lost all your manors since leaving Dun Baldir?" Before the stout man could straiten his helm the child's accusing finger was leveled at his higher up, "And you! Feral child? I'm a novice of Elune out of Ashenvale and I'll have an apology from you for your false accusations right now!"

The two men stared. Floating... she was _floating! _The commander finally got the sense to defend his honor, "You're wandering the Plaguelands at night! What would you have us believe?"

Half a dozen arrows and one spear struck the shield that surrounded the floating human before bouncing away undamaged and undamaging. Her eyes narrowed, "Your etiquette is deplorable. I think I'll go ask Arthas to help me find my friend; I've been told he's looking for new recruits." She started to float away, still surrounded by the impenetrable shield.

There was movement under the illuminated figure; she looked down to find a Kaldorei woman in a multi-colored dress running after her, "Wait, wait! Girl-child-_human_! Wait!"

Perplexed she floated down to the ground. The tall woman stopped just a few feet away, large eyes glowing silver and purple hair pulled back in a short ponytail. The dwarf man called after her, wondering how she'd gotten outside the gate without any of them noticing. "Rayne! What'in the nether are yah doin'!" The Dwarf man could barely see over the edge of the wall but was adept at hooking himself into the supports and peering over.

"Forgive me associates, novice, we are a wary lot." The Kaldorie knelt in front of her. "I must ask how you managed to make it through the Plaguelands unscathed and to inform you that we are awaiting a minion of the Lich King who is headed towards us. You may wish to come inside quickly."

The novice smiled down at her. This was more like the treatment she was expecting and it made her long for her room in the temple back in Ashenvale. "Not to toot my own horn," she said in Darnassian, "but so far I haven't come across anything that was too much for me to handle alone."

The tall woman stood, hope shining in her eyes, "My Elune, it is good to hear the mother tongue again!" Her own words in Darnassian were met with a smile from the small priestess in front of her. "Come, come! The clerics and commanders will certainly want to hear how you came to us in such a fashion."

On top of the wall the Dwarf grumbled, "Yeah, yeah. Make a beeeg show o' it, Rayne. Like I couldn't 'ave made'er stey wit'out yer help!" Behind him the commander shook his head, letting the older dwarf know to let it go, and ordered the gate open.

Said gate was made of entire logs of trees lashed together and held with four kinds of magic. The emblazoned sun of the Argent Dawn split in two as the thick ropes snapped taunt and the cattle were driven forward to swing one door open a few feet.

Upon entering the novice was immediately received by the dwarf, ushered into the chapel and then left to wait for the commander. Rayne trailed behind them, apparently allowed to go wherever the heck she pleased. _Pleased_ wasn't enough to describe her elation at finally being around another 'Kaldorei'. Apparently it had been a while. As for the rest they took up their posts once more and stayed on the ready for the approaching threat.

The road leading up to the chapel was lined with sharpened logs wedged into the ground and trip mines. How efficiency of mines which looked older than the Aspects themselves was passingly called into question. At least it was dry; the lack of any grass or foliage must have turned the whole area into an enormous mud puddle come a rainy day. To the left were the stables and sturdy tents that promised to be stone and lumber buildings some day. To the right and down the hill was a series of buildings, blacksmith and lumber mill amongst them. Civilian houses were located near the wall, though it was obvious they had been there before the wall and not build in such a horrible spot to begin with. Behind the chapel was the single entrance to what promised to be an underground tomb. Not digging up and burning all these bodies made the little novice question all these people's sanity.

"Right this way, ma'am." The commander was polite at least as he lead her up the path to the church. The rough gravel paving was stomped down so far into the soil it was barely visible. The priestess picked her way along carefully and entered the church with some caution as the double doors were opened for her.

Inside the civilian residents of the holdfast were waiting to see what became of the threat. Huddled along one wall the non-fighters stood apart from the fighters. A warlock thing stood half in front of a woman wearing a gorgeous set of red, gold and black plate armor under a tabard bearing the symbol of old Lordaeron in red. Mistress and body guard for certain. Other strangers in the room came into view as the new arrival entered. They gave her a wide berth. She was lead into a private room off the side. This room is where the clergy normally dressed for service. All the holy artifacts were stored there, along with the closet of robes.

When she and the commander and Rayne were seated formal introductions were made. "I am Lord Raymond George, commander of the Argent Dawn and this is Rayne, emissary of the Cenarion Circle."

"Mellmarie of Ashenvale," she handed him her hand for a polite peck, "novice of Elune here on a personal mission."

"I must ask," Lord Raymond's curiosity got the better of him, "what on earth brings you here? Alone. At night." The brown hair he wore in no discernible style was tussled from sleep. The cream tabard bearing the black sun of his order didn't hide the missing armor. Legplates and breastplate were all he had time to don before she'd made it to the gate. The lot was fastened down with the same enchanted utility belt most folks wore when their jobs needed utility.

"A friend of mine was taken from Ashenvale by two Horde, a priest and a warlock-"

"Corrosa and Jetadiah." Rayne blinked long and hard, shaking her head, long ears wiggling. "Or was it Jetadiah and Corrosa when you saw them?" It was Kaldorie custom to refer to a pair leading with the name of the dominate individual. With this pair it was right for Rayne to question her etiquette.

Mellmarie was surprised, mouth snapping shut once she realized it hung open, "Exactly. You know them? Do tell!"

"I know Jetadiah. He makes searchlights to find the feral children. The success rate is astonishing, all things considering." Lord Raymond did not elaborate on what 'all things' were. "We welcome him to Light's Hope each time they passes through, even if it means allowing that trained creature of his to accompany him into this hallowed place."

Rayne sternly corrected the Argent commander, "_Allow_ him here? You make it sound as if searchlights are all he does. He has not turned his back on the Light, even after what happened-."

Mellmarie was curious. She folded her hands and fell silent, letting the adults discuss the character of absent third parties as they like.

"Yes, yes, Strahtholm and all that," Lord Raymond waved a dismissive hand. "I much prefer Blaze to this current companion of his, however. She at least tried not to set her own on fire."

The elfin woman snorted, "Blaze earned her name that day-"

"That fire cannot be linked to anyone who is affiliated with us!"

_Yes_, Mellmarie though, _blame it on someone else._ So Blaze was a mage? Who had been at the culling of Strahthom? And set the place on fire? So far, knowing the history of the doomed city, the novice priestess saw little problem with it.

"Don't mistake Jetadiah or the High Elves: they volunteered." Rayne smoothed her dress and crossed her legs in the seat. Keldorie did not like human chairs, with their legs that sat them so far above the earth. "He dreams about it, you know? I made him a potion so he could sleep through the night and not have nightmares."

Lord Raymond nodded, "All the good priests have nightmares. It keeps them pure to be reminded why they do what they do." He paused before adding, "Blaze never had nightmares. Not once. She was not meant to be a priestess-"

"That is not for you to decide. The Light speaks who whoever needs to hear It."

The older human man smiled at the tall, purple lady, "You know a lot about the Light, Rayne. Do they teach you about it in the Nigh Elf homelands?"

"Yes. We just call Her Elune is all."


	8. Chapter 7

"The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud."

~ Coco Chanel

"Sometimes the only thing you can like about someone is a white chalk outline."

~ Unknown

"I have never killed a man but I have read many an obituary with great satisfaction."

~ Mark Twain... I think

~*~ Chapter 7 ~*~

Lord Raymond stared at a spot on the wall, not wanting to argue semantics with the Druid. He did not view it as she did, though claiming to know the One True Way of the Light was the difference between the Argent Dawn, The Order of the Silver Hand and the Scarlet Crusade. "When Blaze left it shattered him. He went to find her and came back with a Forsaken warlock instead. That was after the Dawn was formed though. He won't wear our tabard but he'll sure use our name as he likes."

"Corrosa tried to join us. Promised to knock Naxxramas right out of the sky if we'd give her a tabard. You said no." Rayne seemed to know exactly who was to blame for the High Priest's absence from the Argent Dawn's membership rolls. "And besides, he does everything for everyone. We would be restricting him to tie his name to any one place or organization."

Lord Raymond just looked at her for a moment. A long moment. Finally she understood, eyes getting wide with remembrance. She grinned, "You know what I mean. She doesn't belong here, so neither does he. As you humans like to say, '_Deal with it_.'"

Speaking of which... "You let a Warlock into the chapel?" Mellmarie only cared about the priest's abilities, affiliations, etc. Finding out he was not affiliated with this place was all what she hoped they would provide without the need to ask.

"It is that," Rayne said, "or risk offending the High Priest. When Elune and the Light send you a blessing, you do not send it back with complaints of not good enough. Fle-tained because of that warlock, yes, but a_ blessing_."

There was a long moment of silence while Mellmarie remembered her visions of the man and his projections in Ashenvale. "He has a friend of mine," the girl insisted, "and I want help getting her back." First the warlock and then the Death Knight had insisted she would make an excellent servant for their respective masters; she intended that neither would get the chance to make good on their threats.

"He will not give you the Druid," Rayn's voice was soft as most of her kind tended to be, "I dreamt of her, as did a great many of the disciples of Cenarius and Elune. We, Lord Raymond and I, went to the Elfin Gates and saw the trees, saw what they were doing to the land and so close to Deathknell."

The silence fell again as she took in what the brightly dressed woman confessed. Finally there came a tap on the door. Lord Raymond answered and a full fledged Priest of the Light walked in, the caretaker of the chapel and spiritual leader of this band of Scourge-defying misfits.

"Father," Lord Raymond smiled and motioned for the older man to have his own seat. He introduced the stranger, "Mellmarie of Ashenvale, novice of Elune, here asking about the Druid of Quel'Thalas."

"Father." Mellmarie tipped her head somberly and fell silent. _Druid of Quel'thalas_… they had given her friend a nickname or was it just to distinguish which Druid he spoke of?

The man eyed her up and down, taking in her bi-colored robes and Night Elf jewelry and facial markings, "You will not peruse the Druid. She is in good hands where she is. The Argent Dawn will give you an escort to take you back to Ashenvale."

"No," Mellmarie just about came out of her chair. This is why she left the service of the Light and it's confined dark spaces: the stuffy priests who gave orders as if they were writ by the Light itself and to say anything to the contrary was treason. "She's my friend and I've come to take her home!" She would not speak of her own visions, of which a novice rarely had and she having four in the last few months since finding the demonic circle where so much of her friend's life blood had been shed in pain.

The man frowned, white beard and balding head sagging in dismay. Beady eyes narrowed with a sigh, "I suppose you have gone native to the… Night Elves then-"

"Watch yourself, priest." Like Mellmarie, Rayne had no reason to let insults and orders slide, "You are before daughters of Elune and Cenarius and I do not abide insults."

It was then that the priestess realized that the tall elfin woman was a Druid herself and not just a member of the Cenarion Circle. Sometimes the Emerald Dream spoke to those who were not Druids themselves, as she assumed in this case, but judging by the way the woman flexed her fingers like claws and bared her teeth in a feral threat it was clear where her specialties lay.

"I did not mean to offend, only to say a child of the Human race only turns to the gods of another for reas-"

"Alright," Mellmarie was on her feet, "I've heard enough. You're not going to help me so I'll get out of ya'lls hair and let you get back to bedy-bye." Upon reaching the door she found the Lord Raymond had slid quickly between she and the exit. "Kayas taught me how to bite," she warned.

"Who?" the priest asked.

"You don't even know her name, you _savage_," the impenetrable bubble of light formed around her, knocking Lord Raymond the few inches back into the door as the angry priestess rounded on the still sitting priest, "but you'll let the Horde keep her because that's what's best?"

"Lower your voice, child," he older man chided, "you'll worry the lay-persons."

Aghast she spun back to the Argent commander and pulled him bodily away from the door. Unsure about what to do in the hands of so small a girl the man let himself be thrown around. An honorable knight did not harm children and so what is a man to do when he's being girl-handled so craftily? Were she a few years older and he a few years younger...

"See here!" The priest was to his feet and chasing her out of the room now, rather spry with anger as most older men were known to become in their golden years, "I'll have you arrested for putting hands on-"

"She didn't hurt me." Lord Raymond said sheepishly. "Let her go: I won't have the entire base roused because a child wanted to leave and moved me when I blocked her exit."

"Infuriating!" Mellmarie had taken up the Dranassian tongue once more, aware that only one person in the little shantytown would understand her. She favored the flowing language of the keldorie mother tongue and had long ago abandoned the blocky language of her own. "'Go to Light's Hope' they said, 'Find Lord Raymond' they said, 'He'll help you find your friend.' Lies, lies-lies! All this way for nothing but an arrogant old man and a tomb big enough to be the Cataclysm(1) should Arthas ever get this far!"

The civilians and emmisaries lept aside as she past, choosing neither to hinder her bodily or in word. A hand landed on her shoulder the same moment one of the double doors was wretched open. A quick burst of light left the hand singed and the owner crying out. It was quickly withdrawn, the soft sounds of natural healing magic filling the silence. Turning sharply the priestess realized she had burned the Kaldorei woman. Rayne nursed the hand with glowing green vines, her eyes filled with hurt of every kind.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you. I though it was him." The arrogant old man in question stalked up.

"How do you know about the tomb?" Rayne spoke in common. The priest and Lord Raymond shushed her but she only looked at Mellmarie, "Very few people outside of Light's Hope know about the tomb. Them who aren't ours don't live very long." Her tone of voice suggested the pretty woman took care of that job herself, intent on guarding the secrets of Light's Hope personally.

"The bodies?"

"Yes," The priest forced open the other door to make room for himself in the doorway, "the Order of the Silver Hand. They're buried here, as many as we could get our hands on."

Mellmarie was confused, "There's hundreds. Absolutely hundreds of them!" Each a potential champion of the Lich King should that crazy dead prince get his hands on them.

"We know," Lord Raymon couldn't fit in the doorway and so settled for standing between Rayne and the elderly priest, "Myself and a few others exhumed and reburied as many as possible when we realized what Arthas was doing to them. The ones we couldn't carry this far were burned and we've been burning new bodies ever since. How did you know they were there?"

Ignoring their line of inquiry the novice forged ahead with her own line of questioning, "Why don't you just burn them too? Do you have any idea what kind of Scourge _gold mine_ this place is?!"

"Yeh dunna like te' ans'er quest'ins, duh yeh?" The Dwarf man was coming up the path at a steady pace, "Yeh like tah ask fer help but no' ans'er th' quest'ins put to yeh."

"I find answering other people's questions a waste of my valuable time." The priestess strode out the door and down the steps. "Besides, any priestess worth her candles could feel the holy energy radiating out from under the chapel. I don't know what you were thinking, Lord Raymond," she stopped along the path to look back at the foursome on the steps, "but if I were you I'd build a bigger wall. The Lich King is getting desperate for Death Knights; it's only a matter of time before he strikes."

"Speakin' o' walls," the Dwarf man cut off whatever the priest had been about to say, "the threat we was feeling' er'ler is stopped in it's advanc'es. What we' yeh have us do?" The question was directed to the Lord Commander.

The old priest overrode whatever Lord Raymond was about to say to retake the former topic, "And just how do you know anything about Death Knights? You're no necromancer or Cult of the Damned or Twilight's Hammer or… Scarlet-"

"She's not one of ours." A faint womanly voice floated out from the room, "And I take offense to your implications, priest. The Light does not bend for those who are not righteous."

Mellmarie laughed at that, "Well you're just shedding brownie points left and right, arnt you?" She spoke of the priest, "Pissing off Elune and the Scarlet Light with one foul remark after another." To Lord Raymond she replied, "You must be desperate for spiritual leaders if you let a man like that teach love and Light to your people." She tsked and turned back down the path.

"Halt!" Lord Raymond's sharp order pierced the silent night air and every head that wasn't already turned did so, "By the Light, Priestess, you have gone to far. I do not take kindly to your insults of my people. Apologize!"

_It's so cute that you think you get to tell me what to do_. Not since she left the human nations to answer her calling to Elune had anyone spoken to her in such a tone. Mellmarie yawned and shot strait up into the air, turned and floated off towards the gate. The little golden feather, the reagent for such a spell, floated between her palms. Arrows and spears bounced from her shield harmlessly while Rayne admonished the priest for his insults. He was, after all, the cause of the altercation. She insisted that if the priestess were held accountable than so should the priest.

"Wait!" the Druid was running after her on two legs as fast as the floating figure floated, "Pray tell, where did you learn that spell?"

The human girl kept going but answered this question, since it was one she had answered a hundred times before, "Elune and my mother."

"Your mother was a priestess then?" Rayne had to watch where she was going lest she stumble into the clearly marked trip mines. The living would go around them but the dead would stumble right over them and be blown to pieces. In theory at least...

"A mage."

The effort to not run into sharpened poles or people or get hit with falling projectiles caused her words to become choppy, "Then she taught you the spell for slowing your fall?"

"Yes."

"You are a mage-priest then?"

"No."

The looming wall, the priestess's freedom, was growing closer and closer. The Druid became desperate for the answers she sought, "Please tell me!"

The glowing figure stopped in the air and looked down at the pleading Kaldorei, her heart going to the sister heart below her. "I won't bother explaining what happened or how I knew where to go but I knew someone needed me and very quickly. There wasn't enough speed in my body to get me there fast enough and so I prayed to the Light, which I had been drawn to as a child, and the little bursts of speed I got were one way to answer my prayers but not enough.

And then I prayed to Elune: if She would take me where I needed to be in time to do what I needed to do then I would do whatever She asked in payment. That did it then and She showed me how to bend the wind and weave the spell. Together with the Light I was able to get where I needed to go, and do what I needed to do. She taught me the spell, and my mother."

Rayne's hands were over her mouth, small tears forming in the corner's of he eyes, "The payment was to enter Her service as a priestess?"

"No. The payment was to Kayas." Her voice cracked to say her missing friend's name, "She was alone on the Zoram Strands, being butchered by Naga. I- I – drove them away and held her heart in my hands as I put it back in her chest and made it beat once more." The pain and furry of that night, the heart felt words said in the heat of holy passion, the powers that had flexed through her being... The floating figure shook with the memory. Even years latter she would still not be able to comprehend what had happened on the Strand.

Rayne's silver eyes grew large as she whispered, "Resurrection?"

"Yes."

~ End Notes ~

(1): This chapter was written before the expansion of the same name was even announced. This note is to clear up any confusion. Arthas very much liked to pillage and burn, which is where the root word of cataclysm comes from.


	9. Chapter 8

"We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal."

~ Tennessee Williams

Especially if you're a promotion seeking member of the Scourge.

~*~ Chapter 8 ~*~

"Yes. Elune gave me to her, commanded that I keep her safe; my life before hers. I would keep her from failing to do the job Elune had set her on this earth to do. I swore these things," she locked eyes with the priest who stood in disbelief of her tale, "_I swore I would protect her!_ Elune would not give her to me for safekeeping, for the safekeeping of Kadlorei lands, and then just take her away without sending another in her place!" A finger was raised and pointed at the priest, "If she is meant to be with this Horde priest, if he is to be the one to keep her from faltering from her path, then where is the Druid or warrior She sent me in her stead? Answer me that, _Father."_

Two moments of silence latter caused the priestess to turn and continue floating over the stark faces of the Argent Dawn and their allies. As an after though she glanced down at the still form of the Cenarion emissary, "I don't suppose they pay you for what you do here?" A confused shake of the head was met with a smile from the one above her. "Didn't think so. I'm going to keep looking for my Druid, but if you ever want a job there is currently a position open in Auberdine for a Druid of the bear variety, and it comes with a priestess and three fully trained minions."

"I… am not that kind of Druid, priestess."

"Restoration?"

"My gift is to the land and the trees and the animals. I make leather armor when I am needed, if someone might bring me the supplies with which I might craft the items."

Mellmarie nodded, a little sad to hear this, and continued on her way. If she crafted armor from supplies that had to be brought to her by individuals seeking her specific skills the chances of her up and leaving this place were slim. Kayas often spoke of a similar leatherworker in Feralas who was the only one who knew how to make a specific kind of leather that held wild and random magic. Even if one were to bring the supplies for the piece it was not certain the end product would allow the 'owner' to wear it. Attempting to control this magic had cost Kayas' family dearly.

Suddenly a voice burst out, full of regret and pleading, "I bet your forgiveness." The priest stood on the steps of the chapel, too old to go chasing after people whom just up and floated away on a whim. "I realize I have been brutish in my approach to the situation but we have had so many come through here asking for help who only sought to take what we had and not repay us."

"I never said I didn't intend to pay you." Miffed at this turn of events, for in her own mind she was already two steps ahead with her plan to leave Light's Hope, the young human drifted to the ground, bubble winking out. "I have payment."

Lord Raymond's curiosity was piqued, "What do you bring us as payment for a fully armed escort to Tirisfal Glade?"

Though she had not asked for an escort threw the Plaguelands, just one to get her safely across the Bullworks, she let this laps in his memory – or manors – slide. Fishing around in her enchanted belt pouch she pushed aside cloak and flint and fishing pole and dress shoes… till her fingers finally found the folded square of paper. Pulling it out she grinned from ear to ear, unfolded the parchment and held it up for all to see.

"Wanted:

Death Knights

The Argent Dawn has Formally declaring the following:

All Death Knights are enemies and abominations of the Light.

All Death Knights are forfeit the rights afforded the living.

Take Bodies to Light's Hope Chapel for Payment:

[List of races, gold offered, and by whom it's being paid]

Live Death Knights: Name your own price

PS: Counterfeit bodies will be burned

And payment withheld.

Yes, we will be checking!

Signed:

Lord Raymond George

The Argent Dawn"

The 'yes, we are checking!' line was hastily scribbled in to what was otherwise a printed poster. Upon first seeing it the priestess' head was filled with the horrors that people would be trying to murder the innocent and pass them off as champions of the Lich King. On the other hand, the line about live Death Knights being taken at a price the captor named was also hand written, but she would accept that some Argent Dawn member had done both lines, if they did one at all.

"I don't recall offing "name your own price" for living Death Knigths." Lord Raymond frowned at the parchment as he drew close and took it to inspect. The Dwarf was laughing at the 'we'll be checking' line and slapping his armor. Rayne was studying her so hard she felt her skin peeling away and her soul being revealed. And here she though only Elune or another priestess had that kind of power.

"So, we got a deal? Death Knight in exchange for an escort?"

The Father smiled kindly at her, finally seeing the good heart under all the layers of Kaldorei trappings, "If you were to bring us a Death Knight then the thousand or so gold would indeed be enough to cover the cost of renting some men to take you into Tirisfal." He approached and placed a hand on her shoulder, "I do not want you traipsing through the woods alone, my dear. Allow me to pay for your escort. In apology of my earlier distrust."

"You can keep that," she generously offered the poster to Lord Raymond. To the priest she said, "I am a Chosen of Elune, though I know I shall not formally wield that title till my day has come, but what Elune draws together no one, not even this heretic human prince, may put asunder. Ashenvale grows darker for my Druid and I being separated; I would get her back quickly that our work continue. Follow me."

Without giving them time to protest, deny, argue in any way, she hit the speed of Light that was her gift. In a flurry of flapping fabric and golden sparkles she sprinted through the gate(1).

It was Rayne who followed first, swiftly sprinted after her on bare feet. Druid she may be but the forms of the animal did not call to her the way the skills of plants and leather working did. The glittering path of Light left in the human's wake deliberately allowed them to see she had gone deep into the darkness beyond the searchlights.

"Ahoy, now, lads!" The Dwarf pulled up short at the gate, signaling all to stop. "I smell a trap, Lord Raymon. That be where th' Scourge be marchin' on us!" A thickly gloved finger pointed to exactly where the priestess had disappeared into the black of night.

Lord Raymond called up to the walls for the rest of the dwarf's regime to come down. The commander of the lot, the only one who wasn't a dwarf, took charge by sending his underling back to his spot in the lineup. All the dwarves were ordered to surround Lord Raymond and keep him safe. As leader of the Argent Dawn the price which the Lich King had placed on his head was incredible. The fact that the man would need protection from others, because he had only donned half his armor in the flurry of activity before the battle, was not mentioned. Better to cover up the laps in judgment with excessive displays of protectiveness.

The commander, a Nicholas Zverenhoff, formed the party into a rank and ordered the gate shut behind him. Commie Nic, as was his handle amongst those in his command, followed the priestess' trail with great caution. Fully fledged priests were ordered to the left and right and behind the group to brighten the way and drive back the things that hissed in the shadows. More than once there came the glimpse of a pale clawed hand or the recent footprint of something sinister that twisted in hunger just out of sight.

When they reached the clearing they saw the priestess sitting on an overturned log beside her supply bag, now wearing her cloak against the chill of the clearing, and reading her Light-bound spell book. "Took you long enough to get here. Did I not mark the trail clearly enough?"

Lord Raymond's jaw clenched. Free-speaking was a quality he was not used to seeing in the children of his own race. "You expect us to just g-"

"Oh my word!" Rayne was the first to spot the still Kaldorei man lying in the tall, withered grass. Faintly glowing golden chains of light were snaked around the body, firmly rooting it to the ground. Enough gore encrusted the black and gray skull themed armor to obscure most of the ornamentation. The chill of the Throne which permeated every Death Knight was the only force between the living and the stench of that gore. The still form did not breath, eyes closed, and yet every sword was drawn. Just in case.

The sunset colored dress pooled as Rayne knelt in the dry grass. Beside her fellow Kaldorei she gently touched the long ears. Half healed nickes in the flesh were healed in some cases and not in all at others. He had been a fighter before he rose as a herald of the Lich King.

The priestess started to protest, "You may not-"

"How- what-where?" All the Druid's questions ran together at once when she didn't know first what to ask. How had a Kaldorei fallen to the Lich King? How had he come to be on this continent? Was he Cenarion as she was?

"It may pain you to know-" but again Mellmarie was cut off.

"The dead don't answer questions, I'm afraid." Lord Raymond knelt over the cold corpse as well, turning the face this way and that before pulling his hand back and trying to determine what kind of remains were going to be scrubbed out of his gloves latter on that night. Pig? Troll?

Once again the priestess started, "Perhaps you will be interested to know-"

"What I want to know," Commie Nic interrupted, "Is how you killed a Death Knight? By yourself and in the dead of night?"

"Well it's not easy to kill a Death Knight so I though-"

An Argent Dawn priest strode forward, "Whatever method you though to use I would be honored to learn. Elune and the Light are two sides of the same coin as far as my branch of teaching is concerned." Lord Raymond's twitching worry lines bespoke his opinion on the subject but the man was allowed to disagree inside his own head as long as he didn't voice it.

"That's flattering, though you'll be interested in learning-"

"Weh got n' time for yeh to start a teachin' cirlce, lassie." The hot-headed dwarf strode forward and inspected the body. The entire regimen was circling around to get a better look, "Weh best get that thin' inside fer the Lich Kin' comes to get it back, I say! 'Is Necromancers can res'rect e'en a thrice dead corpse!" His three thick fingers shot up and back down quickly.

Everyone started talking then, asking questions over and over and over again but each of them demanding an answer to their own questions before another could be answered.

"I see now," the pale figure on the ground spoke softly while cracking one eye to gaze at those around him, "why you don't answer questions. Does this happen everywhere you go?"

"My Elune!" Rayne jumped back as if it had just turned to a snake and reared to bite. A spear appeared a moment latter aimed at the head. A golden shield of light appeared over the man, preventing any damage.

The Death Knight was highly amused at the the women and men who were suddenly made aware that 'that thing' is still 'alive'.

~ End Note ~

I'm trying to catch this story up to "Cat in the Bag: The Druid Pawn", so that when I put out a certain chapter in that story where a certain character in this story appears it won't be several weeks latter before the sister chapter shows up in this story. My goal is to release them both on the same day.

(1) Back in BC I suggested Blizz give every level 10 character some kind of speed increasing still, similar to mage's blink. It wasn't till this last xpack where they finished implementing the class-by-class changes (by level 20 almost every class has a speed-increasing ability). My suggestion for priests was to allow the feather reagent for floating to be combined with a reagent which would fully negate gravitational drag, making the character float very fast for short periods of time. Blizz' version of the spell is nice but I like mine better, so it's the one I'm using here.


	10. Chapter 9

~ Author's Notes ~

Alonea is a very 3D character, but I don't think this fact is coming out on the pages enough. I have opted to spend a couple chapters detailing her backstory, thoughts, emotions and opinions. Sorry if some of you find this boring and yay for those who don't!

I ignored her and now she's plotting revenge on my chapters.

George Sandayana once said,

"Only the dead have seen the end of war."

He lied.

~*~ Chapter 9 ~*~

~ Acharus: The Ebon Hold ~

The Lich King was coming. Members of the Ebon Hold strong enough or entrenched enough to feel the raw power were tense and excited. The brothel brimmed with patrons looking to sate some kind of lust or another. A whore, drained of all his blood by the literal blood-thirsty patrons, was wheeled into the kitchen just as the mistress of the hold made her way out. She paused for a moment, watching the corpse sail around the corner. Its face was frozen in a look of elation. He had died happy, perhaps not knowing that it was his last moment.

Or perhaps because he had.

Disgust ran through Alonea's tall form, a feral growl coming to her throat. _Traitor_. It was so easy for some of them to escape service, though not so easy for others. Moving into the hall her face twisted in annoyance. The residence of the brothel had it easy. All they had to do was drink the blue potion and drift off while someone else did all the work. Her job? No, that was much more difficult. It had been week – weeks!- since she produced a stalwart servant for the war effort. The Lich King was as benevolent and forgiving as a warriror's bloodlust when things did not go His way. That is to say she was better off volunteering to take the corpse' place should the He become annoyed with her lack of productivity.

_Just one fresh body, not still in puberty; that is all I desire.___For two days now she had felt Him coming, starting just before Thanis had vanished into the night. The Highlord had felt it even longer than she, though he kept his own council. Who's business was it who wasn't powerful enough to feel the _pull_ for their Master? The Death Knights were salivating at the impending slaughter. A few of the stronger necromancers had the sense to know what was about to happen. The Lich King rarely visited outside Northrend unless there was a situation in dire need of His personal attention. Someone as great as He could not be bothered to keep personal tabs on every single minion. It was up to those like Mograin to run parts of the Scourge on their own.

Speaking of greatness – or the lack thereof – Thassarian was doing his best to keep Koltira and Alonea out of each other's path. Even for masters of mayhem and disease those two were closer than soul-chained undead minions had any right to be. Alonea and the rest of the necromancers were disgusted by it; a constant reminder of what they wanted and could never have. The master necromancer must have had some formidable goodwill at one point to have created the High Elf to the tatooed human"s specifications, but it was long gone now. As it stood she couldn't stand the sight of another set of long ears if they weren't Thanis'. It just reminded her that her favorite plaything was missing and Koltira had lost it. Once more she couldn't punish Koltira for it since by all rights the toy had gotten up and walked off by itself. _It is still his fault._

For his part the elfin 'knight had volunteers to be chained to the roof if it would make his seething mistress happy. The son of her soul felt every annoyance and ever pull she had in wanting to replace or relocate the thing that had been lost. "Momma" indeed. She was a cat who's runt kitten had wandered off it bothered her. Something as delicate as Thanis – irreplaceable masterpiece that he was – had never been let out alone on purpose. His maker had always been sure to keep him on a short string.

Bothering Koltira bothered Thassarrian. Bothering Thassarian bothered the Highlord. Bothering the Highlord was the highlight of bored days spent waiting for something worth her time but today was not a good day to get on the man's bad side. Most days he was cool and collected and on others he was a blond menace looking to quickly, harshly remove whatever thorn was in his boot. With the Lich King coming she could not afford to be that thorn. She, like all of them, was replaceable.

She had allowed Koltira to spend a day on the roof, thinking it would make her feel better. The bits of his flesh stripped by the buzzards were as quickly replaced by the magic flowing through those icy blue tattoos. Quel'dorie, even dead ones, still needed magic and his ability to blend the magic of his calling with the regenerative properties of the plague set him apart amongst all Death Knights. Irony at it's finest. By nightfall she had taken a griffin up and gotten him down. The naked elf avoided eye contact, puzzled as he was by her changes in temperament. Thanis had always been special, had always been kept close, but was a lone soldier really worth thenon-verbal_ pining_? All of them were prepared to die eternally for the cause and it was only a matter of time before the final death came calling. The ability to think about anything else but the war was a trait of the living and living wants and whims contradicted the goal of the Scourge: to eradicate ever trace of life on Azeroth.

She didn't know when it dawned on her than Thanis was not coming back. Apparently she had been the last to come to the conclusion. Anger arose first and was as quickly replaced with sorrow that had not been felt for the better part of a decade spent in the service of the Scourge. She was alone again, sucked into the shadows once more to spend her existence without the presence of another Kaldorie. _Damn the living! Damn their need to congregate, to feel companionship, to _breed_. _Cursing herself did not ease the discomfort.

Thassarian, head to boot in black skull themed armor, said nothing as the softly clad necromancer delivered his protege still bound in magic wrought chains. "Next time he disobeys my orders I'll rip his heart out and feed it to the ghouls." Both pairs of glowing blue eyes searched her face trying to decide if she were bluffing. Yes, the heart still held certain sway over the actions of a Death Knight. That was why the Lich King had His removed and placed it in the care of the Cult of the Damned. The memories and emotions of Arthas Menathil could bother the Lich King no longer. The two men before her did not have that luxury.

"Is he really that precious to you, mistress?" Thassarian's hollow voice was hard to read.

Angry brown eyes locked onto his own, staring him down, "My master piece, as you said. Irreplaceable." Claws which rarely saw use these days flexed with want to sink themselves into his eyes and tear them out.

"Mistress, sometimes I think you forget he's dead. By your order no less."

Alonea scoffed, "Of course I know that. I chose him myself, did I not? You were there."

For a long moment the pale 'Knight didn't speak. Finally the soft words came out, "I was there. I remember how he came to you thinking you had come back to him-"

"Enough! The mewling things we were back then are nothing now. The pointless wars we fought are nothing compared to the glory of being Scourge. I can always find another elf. As you humans say, 'They're making more every day.'"

Leaving the pair in her wake she turned herself towards the offices to prepare for the impending visit. Whether it would bring good news or bad, His wrath or His blessings, was still to be determined. Either way there would need to be a feast and accommodations and of course entertainment.

A few hours latter there came a knock on the door. Death Knights didn't knock because their boots usually announced their arrival – and ghouls just didn't have the sense to do it – so it must be a fellow necromancer.

"Enter," the mistress bid, sliding off the rotting chair on which she was perched and straiting up. In the candlelight she would look imposing and impressive and that was the point. The underlings just didn't get a moment's reprieve from thinking she'd kill them at any moment. On occasion she did.

However, the woman who walked through the door was not afraid of Alonea, or anyone. Fear had been ripped out of her like dozens of other memories the moment she had lost the position of Master Necromancer to the shadow priest newcomer over a decade ago.

Necrophasia blinked in the dim light, human eyes unable to see as well at night as the aptly named night elves. What passed for clothing was tattered up to her thighs and barely covered her assets. The cut in the front went down to her navel, making it look like she wore some tattered sheets and nothing more. The lack of ornamentation on such an well-worn dress bespoke her position as the mistress necromancer's second-in-command.

"What?" Alonea hated the woman and everything she stood for, though the woman didn't remember what she had done to make her superior feel that way.

"Master sends word that He has captured a paladin which will serve as the nights entertainment." The sickly sweet and insane-level cheeriness of her voice gave Alonea violent urges. "He orders that accommodations for a living dwarf be made immediately." It was the smaller woman's duty to play secretary but her boss didn't like it when news like this went through the hands of lesser-than servants before coming to her.

"Yes, yes. Make the living quarters ready. Change out the soup from the bath tub and replace it with as clean of water as you can find. Nothing with plague in it else the creature will try to cleanse it and last thing we need is another enormous vat of holy water."

Necrophasia giggled like a child, her mind perpetually stuck at the age she had been captured by the Lich King years ago. "Too bad Thanis isn't here anymore; I would so love to see him-"

"Did I give you the impression I care about your silly wants? Get out!" Alonea was certain this woman-child was the reason she hated young offerings so much. Barely out of puberty when she'd come to the Scourge she had all the sense of a teenage girl hyped up on hormones and none of the sense of an adult past the age of preening.

Necrophasia frowned but left without a word. Though she didn't remember how she came to be Scourge she very much remembered where she lived before. Northrend was a wild and exciting place to grow up. Few humans settled that far north but it had been her father's dream to be the first to make a living on the frozen continent. She didn't remember how she went form being a happy child playing with ragdolls on the farmstead to being a necromancer for the Scourge.

Alonea did. Alonea knew about her father's failed expedition to find farm-able lands in the North. She knew how the Lich King had laughed at seeing the hold-fast set up, with it's pathetic palisade walls meant to keep the dangers out. She knew how her liege had waited until the little girl child had grown big and was harvested from the farm like ripe fruit. A hissing and spitting barbarian child form the Frozen Waste had landed at Acherus some 4 years after Alonea began her apprenticeship. Having been witness to just how thoroughly the Lich King can wipe out any traces of the living or their dwellings had turned the girl wild. She didn't understand the great honor being bestowed upon her by being chosen for His service. At first she had rebelled against it, not wanting to become a part of what destroyed her past. That is... until she tasted true power.

It hadn't taken her long to climb the ranks inside the hold, going from brothel maid to apprentice necromancer in just two years. When a slip of fate ended the then-master necromancer there were now two in position for the title. Competition amongst the Scourge was fierce and losing lead to the permanent kind of destruction which not even the plague of undeath could bring one back from. That is, the loser was given to the winner as the prize along with the title.

There was more than one way to destroy someone. Not that she and Alonea had not had their rows as apprentices, but destroying the arrogant woman's arrogance was the burning drive behind Alonea's desire to win. After her taste of power the little bitch had decided she was the chosen of the Throne and was going to sit on it herself someday. Whether it was as a new occupant or beside the current one was unknown, the kaldorei woman's ultimate goal in life was to destroy her – break her down- and rip out everything that made the insane human feel she was so much _better_ than the rest of them. Better than a kaldorei.

It came down to their masterpieces. Alonea of course had Thanis, hand chosen by her not only because kaldorei minds could shape kaldorei minds the best, but because a former healer priest knew kaldorei bodies best. Her competition, younger and much less experienced in anatomy and physiology, chose an elf as well. Kel'dorie, unoriginal named by the brat who raised him, had been a fixation of his maker for over a year before a slip of the blade allowed him to be captured for her purposes. Alonea knew, as no one else probably had, that the human had fallen in love with the elf and though that killing him and bringing him to the hold to be raised as a Death Knight would save him from a fate the rest of the living were doom to. Again, Alonea's age and experience saved her – she had found out love was a weakness some years before and paid a high price for it. A very high price. Entering the Scourge was a promise to herself never to make that mistake again.

Exceptions are almost always made of a masterpiece Death Knight raised by an apprentice necromancer. They eat, they sleep, they poop – much like babies – but like babies usually serve no function other than to remind everyone 'look what I can make'. Alonea had always scoffed at new parents who were so proud of their babies abilities to cry and be hungry and learn their first language. When Thanis rose with all three of these abilities she suddenly understood why parents shoved their spawn in people's faces and said, "Hey, look what I made!" And why they expected praise for it.

Kel'dorei on the other hand could wield the magic that had been his calling in life. Frost and even fire, mixed as one, had shot out of his hands as he tried to kill the thing that raised him. His mistress was delighted at her creation's gifts, not understanding what the ability to be hungry had to do with anything. Death Knights didn't need to eat. Irony that the mark of how good a fully realized necromancer's work was would be determined by how close to "living" a reanimated corpse could be. The tie was broken when Thanis started singing as his kind were like to do when living. Though he had no language the other kaldorei in the room knew what it was: a death dirge to mourn himself since he had confessed in life that there was no one who would do it for him when he died. That the song had no real lyrics was irrelivent.

Alonea had won the competition. Seconds after Mograin granted smiled at her and announced she was the new Mistress Necromancer of the Ebon Hold she had entrapped her competition in a ring of shadow magic and made her watch as she destroyed Kel'dorei. Even as a card-carrying member of the Scourge she still felt the hated most of her kind did for the High Elves who forsook Elune and became obsessed with magic. _This is all their fault._

When the twice-dead body of the elf landed on the floor with a wet plop Alonea had turned on the screaming human with much glee. Glee turned to ash as the girl recognized her fate and the last of her sanity broke. By the time Alonea cleared the ring of shadow magic her competition was sitting in the fetal position rocking. As her new mistress drew closer she looked up with large wet eyes and asked, "Do I get presents? I was good. It's almost Winter's Veil and the presents are still waiting under the tree." Tears had slid from the loser's eyes even as Alone ripped the memory of the last night spent with her family away and burned it to astral dust. Next she had her bound and took the greatest of pleasures in breaking her to the will of her new Mistress. Great, great pleasure.

Alonea alone amongst all of the Scourge necromancers had the ability to alter the memories of the living and dead. Gifts of her past as a healer of Elune. Now those gifts were used to ensure that her lessers and creations were obedient and loyal. The Lich King greatly admired these qualities and more than once invited her to Northrned where she may use them to better advance the Scourge cause. Polite refusal to leave the Ebon Hold before the Plaguelands were completely subjugated had earned patience and ire from her Master. She wanted to be there when New Avalon was destroyed, when Light's Hope was breached, when the hundreds of dead Silver Hand came into her possession. She wanted to march with the new army south through the Plaguelands, cutting down Scarlet resistance and when she reached Tirisfal Glades she wanted to be the one to hand Sylvanas back into the tender care of the Lick King. There was another reason for wanting to go to Tirisfal but she wouldn't think of it. Sylvanas shouldn't be allowed to escape; no one should. It was not so much half a lie as mostly a truth.

None of that can be accomplished in Northrend and so she stayed at Acherus year after year after year. The war waged on, battles were fought and won, resistance rose and was crushed and on occasion there was a visit from the Lich King and a bit of reprieve from the tedium that had become her day-in-day-out experience. How she longed for Silithus just now but Silithus had been full of political games by then and her breed were not political by nature.

Latter in the day Alonea found Necrophasia leaning out over the edge of the hold looking off towards the Throne. "I feel Him," she whispered excitedly as her mistress approached, "The Master is coming." All her competitiveness was gone now, taken and replaced by the unending need to serve, serve, serve. Like all the rest of the living she was fully aware that once upon a time there had been a memory called "greed" and "selfishness" but that since she no longer had both she no longer cared for either. The goal now was to be of use and as long as her Mistresses and Masters were happy then so was she.

_Simpleton_. "Today, I think. Or tonight." Alonea crossed her arms against the chill breeze. The frost that coated the skin of the barely living human bespoke of her skill with that particular branch of magic. It did her little good as a re-animator but at least she had some skill with it for self defense. How many of the necromancers had been drug over the edge of the hold by suicidal escapees was also kept tallied in secret places around the hold. That most of them lacked any practical self defense against the living was why most of them were kept on the hold and out of harms way. "Maybe He'll let us out. I long for a good massacre."

Alonea had plenty of real-world fighting skill. She had defended her home on Decolace when the end was near, turning from Elune of Light to Elune of Death and then losing her way on the path of the priestess; she had faught in Silithus after the Shadow Sister found her and taught her to embrace her darker nature; she had learned hand-to-hand and staff fighting when she joined the raiding parties that fought the Silithid swarm – training that came in handy when she was separated from her group during one of the many battles; she had honed her physical fighting skill after moving to Andorhal when the Scarab King had been defeated and a new one crowned; she had used those skills to remain alive during her apprenticeship to as a Necromancer after joining the fight against the living. The Scourge was the bastard offspring of the Burning Legion and, though she always hated the Legion and everything they had done to the world, there was no arguing with the human saying, 'If you can't beat them, join them.' And so she had. 

The white woman's face lit up ugly with it's scars and dark burning brands across the blind eyes, "I relish a good slaughter. It has been weeks since I've had anything to play with."

S_tupid, simpering child. You do not 'play' with the dead, not with the kinds of powers we posses. _"I hear the Vrykul there make excellent toys. Perhaps the Master would favor you with a transfer." In truth it was Alonea who wanted to go to Northrend. She would never put to words the reasons she did not ask or kill for a transfer out of the vanquished Plaguelands. She needed war. She needed death. She needed the shadows and their cool embrace else forfeit her sanity. Her mind was assaulted by a memory waylayed by names. The Lich King was not the first to win her over with promises of death and destruction._"__Where you go, I will follow. Choose your enemy and they will be my enemy too."_ She would never admit to remembering who had said those words to her; she could not leave Acherus until those words no longer had meaning.

The Highlord's thudding boots clanged along the floor, ruining the word games she and her second were winding up. Both of them turned to courtesy to the Highlord. "The Lich King comes. He shall arrive this very day. A Dwarf Paladin has been captured alive and is being made ready to entertain the Master. The arena is being prepared. Whoever wins gets one _reasonable_ request."

Alonea went stiff the same time Necrophasia's face lit up, "Can anyone fight him?" They both asked at once. _What would I ask for? I'd ask for a village to slaughter and raise on my own. I'd ask for him to let me lose on any one of the Scarlet strongholds. I'd ask him to let me go back to Silithus and...no... NO! What is done is done and there is no going back!_

"Yes, with rules to be laid out at the time. I'm here to tell you to prepare the rest of the hold. Our King is coming." With that the heavy boots carried their wearer away and quickly as he had come.

Necrophasia turned to her mistress and smiled, "I know exactly what I want when I win."

Alonea's long ears almost hit the woman as she she turned her back and walked away, "And you'll be the only person who knows what you want. I intend to win." _My reward shall be your punishment, Thanis. You'll never run off on me again._


	11. Chapter 10

"The men look up in wonder

And the hounds run back to hide

For the fox, it changed to the Devil Himself

Where He stood on the other side."

~ Heather Dale, _The Black Fox_

~*~ Chapter 10 ~*~

~ Plaguelands outside Light's Hope and Light's Hope Chapel~

"I see now," the pale figure on the ground spoke softly while cracking one eye to gaze at those around him, "why you don't answer questions. Does this happen everywhere you go?"

The Argent Dawn warriors jumped back in terror, shocked and fearful of the talking corpse laying on the ground. After decades spent in the Plaguelands some of them still hadn't stop trusting their instinct that something which isn't breathing and should also can't be dangerous.

"Yeah… that kind of happens wherever I go. Confusion and chaos tend to follow." The human priestess lifted the chains to make the reeking Death Knight stand. The Argent Dawn members were struck silent, shuffling back away from the standing figure and exchanging worried glances. Just one Death Knight was enough to kill them all. This one's gore-coated armor bespoke his prowess at gutting.

The sarcasm in the 'Knight's hollow tone was hard to miss, "I would never have pegged you for a sewer of chaos. You will serve my Master well."

Whatever scathing response the novice had planned were lost when her words were drown out by Rayne's cry of despair Hearing one of her own give homage to such a monster as the Lich King caused anguished sobs to jump from her chest. Turing, she fled back towards the hold with both hands over her face. It was apparent that she did not often see corrupted Kaldorei, being brought up as all of them were to know they were the master race of Azeroth and everything form the Old Gods to the Lich King were beneath them.

The icy blue eyes watched her go, brow knitted together in perplexity, "Did I say something to upset it?"

The priestess scowled, the insult to the Druid class stinging the priestess as well, "It?" _My Kayas is not an 'it'._

"Druids arn't people who sometimes look like animals," the frozen warrior answered rotely, "they are animals who sometimes look like people." Staring at the spot where she vanished into the night he puzzled for a moment, "Seems they try to go all fuzzy as soon as they wake with the plague and get stuck that way. Makes them useless as minions, though we find it damn funny entertainment if we can catch it before it leaps off the hold." Smiling at the priestess' raised brows he added, "We put them in the soup when we're done. Mmmmm, kitty chili!"

The priestess, temper rising to a volatile level, shocked the Death Knight till he ground his teeth to stop from crying out. He didn't stop grinning even when he finally stopped laughing. She almost kicked him, "You, Arthas, your necromancer non-friend and that warlock can all kiss my sweet spot. Off we go to your new prison!" The chains started to drag him along. As before he refused to walk and ended up being drug along on his back.

At first Commie Nic protested saying they could not feasibly bring a kicking Death Knight into their holdfast, inside their very defenses. One of the priests ventured close enough to feel the energy emanated form the chains and pronounced them as sound as an adepts and the cursed Night Elf mongrel wouldn't break free of them till the priestess died or released him.

"Good to know," the dead man had said, jumped to his feet and began spitting disease. Immobile hands prevented him tracing any sigils in the air that would call whatever brand of magic he used but his very saliva could spread the Plague if it landed in the wrong opening. Though he could not hit the priestess in the face he did managed to get one man in the face. The unfortunate soldier promptly had half his flesh seared off with Light to prevent it spreading. When the man finally fell under the effects of the soothing spells of the medic and quit screaming he was lifted by his bothers and carried along.

The Death Knight was on his knees gnashing his teeth in pain and attempting to throw himself against the chains. The blue hatred of his eyes glowed so brightly the haze feel down his chilly cheeks in slow waves. The glare he was locked eye-to-eye in with the priestess was defiant and full of bristled anger.

_He would not scream… not scream…_

_He would not scream in front of everyone, give into this child novice woman priestess human weakling thing that- _

The body thrashing against the chains became violent, rocking in time with the pulsing Light shockwaves radiating inward on his body. The wild head whipped side to side as if to deny her sounds she wanted to hear. Deny her the proof that her victim would yield to her administrations. Never yield, never give into the pain.

_I've been here before. How many times have I been here before? _But he couldn't remember. It had been all of ten seconds since the Light first burst open in his skull again but one long, low shriek of agony and it stopped as suddenly as it began. The body felt limp in the chains, panting and perspiring and weeping with the exertions.

There came a soft, now familiar patting sensation against his cheeks. She and that damned handkerchief were back. No, this would be a different one since the last one was burned. "Masochist," she accused once more. "Behave. You're payment for my escort but I'm not going to have you causing problems, understood?"

The blue glare when his lidded eyes slid open was filled with his frozen hatred and tempter, "I enjoy every moment." His cold and hollow voice was horse now, "Even the Shadow Sisters have to be broken into new levels of depravity. Consider this the beginning of your training."

The chilling admission did not have the desired effect. One side of the her mouth puckered in consideration and then she stood, "We'll talk about depravity once you've seen me get after some Naga. I'm no virgin to the shadow arts." The chains started dragging him again as she lead the way back to the hold.

"Bet the same cant be said-" The filthy comment was cut off with a growl or a laugh, it was hard to say with a chain wrapped under his jaw.

The men and women still with them were speechless or choosing to remains silent as the best option at the moment. They kept torches of Light burning in order to keep the creeping and crawling things away. The ruckus had drawn things small and large from miles around and more than once a clawed foot or glowing eye slipped into the glow and an arrow or holy bolt went flying into the darkness. The glowing path of the bolts lit up the surrounding night with horrific results. Hundreds of undead and plagued things were following them, wating for a weakness, but too afraid of the Light emanating from the Death-Knight-turned-Holy-Candle to advance. This was how they made their way back to the Chapel.

The undead man's stomach was growling every few minutes by the time they got back. Lord Raymond inquired about it and was astonished to hear that the Death Knight was _hungry_. The two locked eyes for a moment, the elf's mouth foaming with plagued spittle as he stared down the leader of the Argent Dawn. What a price this one would make for his mistress. Lord Raymond merely stared back, having complete faith that the chains of Light would hold and he was in no danger. His followers were not as trusting.

Exiting the woods in front of the gate brought a flurry of activity from the small compound. As they drew near, a beacon of brightness in a black night, commands were issued back and forth to open the gates and allow the party entrance. Being informed that a live Death Knight was amongst their number brought hesitation to follow the orders until Commie Nick threatened to scale the walls and "upset" the head of whoever willingly chose to disobey Lord Raymond.

His threats were good and so the gate was pushed open a fraction to allow them single file entrance. In the darkness behind them the scraping of heavy feet and rotting cloth followed them right up to the buffer of daylight around the compound. Arrows infused with holy light shot into the darkness from atop the palisades and more than one of them found a mark. The rest fled while their twice-dead neighbors bodies burned to ash as warning beacons.

Rayne greeted them at the entrance. Whatever trauma had befallen her senses before was gone now, replaced by a kaldorei determination to prove that kaldorei could never be corrupted enough to fully become a quality champion of the Scourge. It just wasn't possible.

"Bring him here, where he can't hurt anyone." She didn't even ask Lord Raymond where he wanted the thing stored for the time being, just wheeled around and headed up a path behind the chapel. Without consulting the stammering Human Mell'marie followed dragging her conquest with her. The members of the Dawn were at a loss as to how to stop them squirreling away the prize, but seeing how no deal had been put down on paper for officially handing over the undead creature it still technically belonged to the priestess. And Rayne was actually leading them away from the living areas into one of the safest places to hold it: the crypts.

Lord Raymond ordered a detail of guards to follow and included himself in the mix. Comie Nick brought the missing pieces of his armor and spare gloves. The others weren't taken to be washed, they were burned on the spot to ensure any plague on them would not spread. Customary practices which helped control outbreaks.

Four guards were placed outside the entrance of the crypts and two on each of the three landings leading down inside. Each were among the most formidable of the paladins Light's Hope had to offer. Getting out to escape would be as difficult as getting in for rescue. Good thing the Scourge had only recently discovered how to reanimate beasts which could fly, else what was the point of having walls for protection?

Silently the Argent guards watched as the prisoner was chained to the wall with mithril chains strong enough to hold a birthing kodo. He wasn't escaping from that. Somehow the Scarlet emissary made it into the crypt, studying the prisoner with eyes that bespoke a predatory interest. It was almost as if she saw a kindred spirit in the mental chains which bound him to duty and loathed the fact that he was not Human and therefor not worth trying to save. In annoyance she left as quickly and quietly as she came, though her unforgettable presence persisted.

The slim-coated prisoner panted with relief as the Light-wrought chains slipped away. He collapsed against the wall, armor scraping against the masonry and body pulling at the chains and rattling them loudly as he sagged downward. The exhaustion which he hid so well could not be hid anymore as he slid to sit on the floor, eyes closed, head falling forward to rest on the thick collar around his neck.. Plate clad arms hung heavily from the manacles around his wrists, fingers relaxing. He looked to be truly dead once more.

Rayne stood back, watching him with deepest sorrow and determination. Nothing was beyond saving and something in the furrow of her brow and the tilt of her head said this one was about to become her special project. "Does he sleep?"

"Yes, he does," the man's mouth said, "Though with you staring at me like that I'm afraid to. I don't want you taking advantage of me while I'm out." The implication that he was afraid of being assaulted by something as delicate as the druidess made both the druid and the priestess snort. He grinned, which quickly faded as he tried again for sleep.

Mel'marie tsked, "Trust me,no one wants anything you have. Unless it's knowledge of how to cure the plague of undeath and defeat the Lich King."

"Neither. Let me sleep unless you're going to start torturing me again."

The druid's sympathy slid away and the stalwart determination of her faction showed itself, "I know you were a good person once. We don't wind up this far from home unless it's for a good cause. At some point you fought him and you lost but it's not too late to right the wrongs you have brought upon this land."

One pale blue eye slid open, looking as tired as the rest of him, "There is no coming back from the things I have done. I have given myself to the conquering and subjugation of these lands and as far as I'm concerned they are property of the Scourge. Your paltry resistance is futile; I will kill all of you. After my nap."

Disbelievingly the priestess laughed, "Says the man trussed up like a Sunday chicken."

"I'm no mere man; I am a harbinger of His wrath upon this world. All foes shall fall before me."

The priestess teased him. "Are you going to sing them to death?"

Softly he laughed, "She says I should try. What do you say?"

Rayne waited patiently to be told who 'she' was and what singing had to do with anything but neither volunteered explanations.

"I say you're in love with her and you don't even know it." Mel'marie was just as capable of taunting his soft spot as he was at picking at her.

Rayne's eyebrow went up and she looked back at the undead prisoner in surprise. "Love?"

"Probably. But not knowing is still not knowing and I do not know this love of which you speak."

The silence that followed was punctuated a few moments latter puppy-soft snoring. The vicious death knight was soundly asleep where he slept chained to the wall. Both of the females looked at each other in surprise. Neither had really expected him to admit that he was even still capable of such emotions, even if they were repressed under the Will of the Lich King. That was very, very un-Scourge.

Mel took Rayne to the other side of the room to fill in both she and Lord Raymond on their unusual prisoner.

~End Notes ~

I assume that Humans call other bi-pedals "human" because it's what they are. My assumption is that keldorei call all bi-pedals "kaldorei" because that's their word for bi-pedals. Same for Tauren and Draenei, who would call bi-pedals by their race name. That is why I make a distinction to capitalize "Human" if it's the race and lowercase it if I just mean bi-pedal hominids. Sorry for any confusions this may cause especially given the fact that I randomly capitalize and lower-case all other class, titles and races.

I don't often beg for reviews (ever, really) but today I really would like to know what people think of this story. Any feedback is valuable feedback. Examples are: "Your story is too simple." "Your pacing is good but your grammar is terrible." "Koltira wasn't raised by a necromancer, he was raised by Thassarian on the battlefield just minutes after he died." "Alonea is hot; write more from her point of view." "Alonea is boring; stop writing from her point of view." "Mell'marie is a Mary Sue. Do you live vicariously through a human priest that you god-mode in game?" (The answer is no, but I do live vicariously through an undead shadow priest that I god-mode in pvp. All your mines are belong to me!)

Seriously, even if you leave feedback as a nameless, faceless guest with the worst grammar and spelling ever I will still appreciate you :)


	12. Chapter 11

"It is the soul's duty to be loyal to its own desires.

It must abandon itself to its master's passions."

~ Rebecca West

That master, of course, being the Lich King whos Will drives the desires of the souls He possesses.

~*~Chapter 11~*~

~Acherus: The Ebon Hold~

Screaming. There was screaming coming from the pit in the floor. The female Dwarf Paladin had vanquished all four foes who volunteered to face her. The Death Knight newblet cake of doom lay twitching on the splatted remains of the previous contestants, lit up from the inside by the holy light of the sanctified sword the righteous woman wielded. Red-orange hair the color of autumn leaves swirled around behind her as she pushed her weapon deeper into the man's guts and burned him alive form the inside out. The hip length braid and intricate details of her hair dripped with blood but she didn't care. She really didn't care.

"Ay send yeh back to th' Nethe', you Scorged monster! Yeh be bothrin' no'one anymore!" Her lilting accent was out of place in a dark and heavy atmosphere that usually permeated the necropolis. The shining silver and dark gray plated armor was polished to mirror beauty and festooned with blue gemstones. She took first rate care of her second rate armor, whoever she was. Swords, however practical, were not her first weapon of choice. The Lich King was holding her preferred weapon, a mace called Varigan's Fist, hostage until the fighting was over. If she lost He'd desecrate the holy weapon and turn it into a runemace(2) and raise her as a Death Knight. If she won she got her freedom, her mace and all the Acherus Rotgut ™(3) she could carry.

On his throne above the arena the Lich King sat. Bigger by far than anyone else in the hold he took up the enlarged seat and then some. Devoid of the intricate armor of battle he wore instead frost-cracked leather and chain mail of a visiting king who knew there was nothing to fear of his adoring subjects(1). Said armor was currently being polished and repaired. In the meantime his subjects who had gone out of their way to find a real pig from which to serve bacon. That the feast sat uneaten by anyone present was never mentioned. No one ate till the King ate and the King was not hungry.

To his left sat Alonea as mistress of the hold and to his right sat Highlord Mograin, as master. The very pregnant troll madam sat on his knee regaling him with stories of how she used to be an assassin but changed her ways when she found out that whoring makes more money when you don't kill your customers. Unless they went into the soup. Then it was ok.

The reason for the Lich King's visit was running across the floor between the arena and the throne. It's lighting covered blue and white fur shocked anything it touched. Six inch fangs snapped and snarled at any hand that got close enough to grab it. Five children ran after it, one squealing in delight and surprise when they caught a handful of fuzz and got shocked.

As quickly as the beast turned to bit a swift hand smacked the head away. Daddy was also in tow, making sure the sabertoothed "pet" didn't eat his children. Quickly it was learning to charge it's fur with lighting, shock the hands that held it sharply and then run like the wind when they let go. Preferably before another set of hands clamped on.

Their King laughed watching the smallest of the children being drug along by the tail while refusing to let go. He was in a very good mood today, grinning at the brothel matron's bawdy stories and enjoying Mograin's humiliation. The half-human offspring and their father's immunity to the High-lord's wrath was a lesson all of them were learning. That they regularly received gifts of dangerous pets and toys was the ire of both Mograin and their father. Neither of them could or would dare refuse the gifts and so the children had received a half-grown wild lightning-blessed worg with the arrival of the Lich King whom they called "uncle Arthas".

Alonea had once wondered why their Master allowed the brats to stay on board – even as a punishment to Mograin – but she suspected it had a great deal to do with lack of sufficient bodies from which to create His champions. After seeing how he waited for Necrophasia to grow big enough to harvesting she was sure that is exactly what was taking place here. The dangerous gifts were as much to train them as it was to cull the weaker ones who weren't smart enough or quick enough to avoid the snapping jowls of the angry animal. What became of them or their parents when they were no longer needed remained to be seen.

A shiver ran threw the master necromancer as she though of what Scourge breeding facilities would look like. That their King had once clasped the rogue human around the shoulders and jokingly commented that if he was the children's uncle then that made them brothers. Brothers protected each other's interests, yes? The man looked mortified and disgusted but weakly replied in the affirmative. The Scourge could make use of the offspring of any human who could sneak on board Acherus undetected and the Amani brothel matron. The unfortunate man was then prompted to ask his wife how she had come to be in the service of the Scourge. The answer had made the human sick to his stomach and he avoided her chambers for almost a week. Almost. Needless to say even the Lich King understood that the living birthed his armies and if his armies were to continue growing then a chosen few living needed to keep giving birth.

It was as entertaining as watching the troll woman get drunk. That she drunk so heavily while pregnant was no one's concern: trolls metabolize alcohol differently than humans or elves. If the baby was born dead it wasn't as if the corpse would go to waste. She laughed and scratched long nails across her stomach when the king told her that.

_What a pair.._. Alonea watched the fighting like a hawk, judging the woman's use of the Light in prayers and blessings she called on to aid her. When the Death Knight's smoldering corpse was drug away the voluptuous woman turned to their Master and bowed.

The Lich King clapped, gloveless hands striking sharply together loud enough to make the living ears ring, "Well done, Paladin. I will permit a brief rest before the last contestant. It will indeed be the last."

The longsword – long to Dwarfs that is – was given a quick polish with an already dirty cloth and the cloth flung aside. "Bring it on. I'll not stop till 'is blade is burred in yer guts, monster!"

The enormous Death Knight laughed, "All in good time, Paladin. All in good time."

Sitting sharply on her rump as she had each time a fight ended she pulled out her Light-blessed tome and began reading. Never too busy to study, this one. What's your excuse?Even the saber worg and six sets of feet running past and around in a circle didn't disturb her reading.

The Highlord took that opportunity to ask Alonea for a dance. "I don't dance," the grumpy Kaldoei scowled. The guest of honor snorted into his wine cup, grinning. Two strikes for Mograin. The undead had almost no tolerance for alcohol seeing how they had nothing to process it the same way the living did. He was nigh sauced from one cup.

The Highlord leaned closer and said again, "Would you like to dance." There wasn't a question in his tone of voice. Alonea had been too distracted by the fighting and waiting her turn that she hadn't realized there hadn't been one in the first place. Their Master had heard the command, however, and though it amusing. One strike for Alonea.

Taking the Highlords hand she allowed herself to be escorted to an empty space of floor. Like the rest of the inhabitants of the hold armor had been put aside in favor of leather and chain mail. Only combatants wore plate or carried the beautiful glowing rune swords. Mograin was hansom and well-built for someone who died so young. He must not have been far into his 20s judging by his facial features and thick shock of blond hair. Alonea never cared for blond hair. It always reminded her of little human children in the springtime and children had always been the bane of her existence.

"What?" she asked bluntly while putting her arms in position for a waltz. Not that human dances were her favorite but something about ballgowns and choreographed dances just did it for her. She had learned this particular dance while serving in what is now Decolace as an apprentice some few hundred years ago.

The undead King ordered something equivalent to music be played as he sat back to watch two of his Scourged servants attempt to waltz. No one had told him there would be multiple forms of entertainment! He wondered what else was on the menu.

As the clattering of bones and slapping of bricks settled into a rhythm – at least enough to kind of dance to – Mograin leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Thanis has been captured. Again." He started the dance, leading the taller Kaldorie woman in a small, tight circle.

Alonea rolled her eyes to hide how hard her heart thumped, "Of course. Who has him this time?" Her mind was spinning through rescue missions even as the Highlord informed her rescue would be impossible.

"A human apprentice priestess of Elune. About fifteen years old. Alone. Last my sources saw he was being drug through the bushes to Light's Hope. Apparently she wants to trade him for an escort through the Bulwark. Something about rescuing a Druid who's been captured by the Banshee Queen."

It was all the still-living woman could do not to scream in anger. _Thanis, bane of my existence, I swear one of these days I'm going to let them keep you and maybe then you'll learn to stay put!_ It took all her concentrated will not to spin away from the dashing Highlord or to claw at his face. Was he mocking her? No, Mograin had never been that kind. Rebuffing her? No, he was not known to speak in riddles either. Warning her? Yes, that had to be it. He was warning her. But why?

Mograin allowed her to think in silence while they swirled in their little corner of the room. The Paladin was watching them as well between passages in her tome. Why the Master allowed her to keep the thing was unknown to Alonea, but like the rest of them they did not question the Lich King. Said ruler was lounging on his throne, overlooked those gathered for his visit and the untouched buffet. Alonea herself had to constantly tear her eyes away from the untained food. Apples, real and juicy, moonberries from her homelands and bacon. Wine from Southshore and grog that was no doubt stolen from the Dwarf's own supplies when she had been captured. They had been nice enough to offer the petite woman a cup of the amber liquid but she had passed, citing correctly that fighting and drinking did not mix.

"You dance beautifully. I imagine you must have been the belle of a couple balls while still amongst the living." The Highlords soothing compliment took the edge out of her rising annoyance with everything around her. He was very good at being able to judge her moods and sooth them. She did the same for him on an equal number of occasions. It was good that they had complimenting and not competing jobs. Fel forbid they ever meet in combat.

She answered Mograin as they went around again and her eyes landed on Necrophasia, "I have been to a few. The keldorei keep to themselves but they are still members of the alliance. On occasion they met up for festivals." Mograin followed her line of sight and spied the less powerful necromancer leaning on the Lich King's knee and looking pleadingly into his icy blue eyes. The fact that the mail-clad Death Knight had a hand under her chin and was grinning lop-lopsidedly made them both apprehentious. "Even though I stripped out all her memories of being a rival she still understands that surpassing me will get her closer to Him. She understands there is always a chance He might take her back to Northrend."

Mograin spun her back around so she was facing him again and unable to see the exchange, "You long for Northrend and yet you have not made a move to go back with Him. He comes and He goes and yet you remain here with us. Why?"

"There was an exchange of promises."

"To whom?"

She shook her head, dark hair sliding across the shoulders of her seductively cut robe, "I don't want to remember that right now."

"It may be in your interest to do just that. Have you any idea why the Master comes to visit us?"

"It is not my place to question Him. He goes where He wants. No one may question Him."

"Correct as you are you also knows He never just pops in because He's feeling froggy. Even that worg pup is not enough to warrant a visit. There is talk of war and battles- oh, _that_ is what gets your attention?"

Alonea stopped dancing, the swish of her robes no longer covering parts of their conversation, "If there is to be fighting I want to be part of it."

"As the Mistress of Acherus or as a Shadow Sister of the Cenarion?"

Her mouth fell open a short moment before snapping shut. The fangs she bore from being a former member of the kaldorei race locked her mouth shut as she hissed, "You question my loyalty? Mine? I walked into His arms willingly and I can walk out anytime I want. Am I not still here?"

A memory whispered up of a barren red wasteland and arms holding her tightly. _Choose your enemy and they will be my enemy as well_. She had decided that the living were the enemy but the owner of that voice had lied; he had not followed her willingly. All suffering in the world would be eliminated if they were all destroyed. Being linked to the greatness of the Lich King's mind, being One with the Throne was the purest religious virtue one could aspire to. She longed for a time when she no longer had the trepidations emotions and yet she served so much better alive than she would as undead.

"I know your promise, _priestess_. I understand more about the Shadow Sisters than you think; you aren't the first of their order to serve Him. I wouldn't at all be surprised if you see the Scourge as just another extension of Elune the Peace of Death. Your loyalty is being questioned: whom does your _love_ belong to? That is what a living Kaldorei will follow in the end of their days."

~ End Notes ~

In lore the Lich King cannot remove his armor o helmet since the powers of the Lich King (to control the body that belonged to Arthas Menethil) resides in the armor. This is why to become the Lich King all that Fordragon had to do was put on the helmet. However, official artwork shows the Lich King without the helmet on. My assumption is that if Fordragon doesn't need the armor and Artha's doesn't need the helmet then as long as Frostmourne isn't far away it's not impossible for Arthas to just remove the armor for short periods of time. This is one of those situations where in-game lore vs cannon lore sorta conflict.

Runemace? Cause lore-wise, I don't see why not.

Acherus Rotgut – "What puts fuzz on your chest, rot in your gut and a burn on your ass?" Distilled in the guts of giant carrion larva. Comes complete with an undead worm in every bottle! Fine print reads: "Often causes temporary blindness, occasional male pregnancy and non-stop diarrhea. May contain the Plague of Undeath." Only sold at Acherus: The Ebon Hold, accept no substitutes!


	13. Chapter 12

~Author's Notes~

A lot went into writing these two chapters and they're longer than usual. I'm sure I messed up 'order of events' somewhere and I apologize. I tried to edit it down to get out anything that was redundant/repetitive but if I missed something just lemmy know and I'll try to fix it.

Alonea's personality keeps stopping my narration in random spots so she can "deep think". I whittled it down to two chapters from the original draft because I get the sneaking suspicion that you guys don't want to read 15 pages of dialogue between the Lich King and everyone who calls Acherus home.

This quote explains it best:

"You are the hole in my head

You are the space in my bed

You are the silence in between

What I though and what I said."

~ Florence & The Machine, _No Light, No Light_

~*~ Chapter 12 ~*~

~ Acherus: The Ebon Hold ~

Alonea broke eye contact, looking down. She studied the Highlords armor as he began the dance again. His words were untrue and true at the same time. The Shadow Sisters had taught her that in order for there to be life there had to be death. Years spent healing and restoring balance from one side had gone unnoticed and nothing had come of it. Only in turning to darker aspects of the Great Goddess had she found the Truth. The Scourge, though they knew it not, were just another aspect of the struggle between life and death and honestly it didn't matter which side you were on because Elune would balance it all in the end. Trying to bend the shadows to uphold life had only backfired and everyone suffered. When Death came calling she had walked into His arms willingly, truly understanding the role she was meant to play.

They danced; she mused. Once, many years ago, Alonea had fought against a Scarlet paladin on the field of battle. The woman had moved as if her armor were just cloth and sword as light as straw. They had conversed while fighting, spitting philosophy and religion and politics at each other. In the end Thanis had gotten in the way and the woman had fled. Her parting words made Alonea order Thanis to let her go. _"As for me? I shall die in combat."_ It shook the master necromancer for days, consuming her thoughts. It took days for Alonea to realized this woman knew she would die and be raised as undead. As undead she would fight for the very King she fought against while alive. How did she just _accept_ that and still fight against Him? Alonea wondered whatever happened to that woman. At the same time she buried jealously over the strength it took to know the end was coming and face it with such righteous determination.

_The ends justify the means._

Alonea stopped suddenly, long skirt wrapping partially around Mograins thigh before she pulled away with a heavy swish and left the dance. The Highlord had all but screamed the warning in her face and it still took her a while to figure it out. Thanis' absence affected her on a deeper level than she would admit aloud. Thanks to the Highlord she knew why the Lich King was here. Every time Thanis acted on his own she had to clean up his mess. _Politics. I left Andorhal to get away from that._ She turned out to be surprisingly adept at Scourge politics – however much she hated them – and so she still had one card left to play. _You'll rue the day you were reborn, Thanis Deadsong!_

Taking her place in front of her savior and Master she knelt on the stone before Him. "Allow me the last fight, Master. I will dispatch this Paladin and prove Your dominance over the Light."

Pushing a necromancer off one knee and the troll woman off the other the formative Death Knight stood and closed the short distance between them. His sword rested against the arm of the Throne, pulsing with power and evil. "I don't know who lusts more for souls, Alonea, you or Frostmourne."

"There are enough to go around, my King."

"Bring it on, shadow witch!" The fiery Paladin was ready to go.

"What would you ask of me if you killed her?"

Her reply was simple, mater-of-fact and hopefully honest enough to give her a point in her favor. "Thanis Deadsong is lost to us. I wish to replace him."

"You know the reason for my visit then." Humor had gone out of the cold voice. The lines of his mouth turned down in a frown. "Your creation is missing, Alonea. Explain?"

The Highlord came up to kneel beside the kaldorei, interrupted her next words, "His loyalty to his mistress is such that even though there is a ban on any Death Knight leaving the hold alone he had ventured out in search of a worthy initiate. He has been captured by a very powerful priestess and is being held by those dogs at Light's Hope. Only the most powerful of the Light's servants could come between him and pleasing his Masters." Everyone present knew that was the understatement of the decade.

While she thanked the Highlord silently for his assistance she doubted any excuse would please the Lich King. Others have been destroyed for less damnable reasons than running off against orders. Thans' fate and her own were intertwined as far as their Master was concerned: where one erred the other would be punished. _Damn you, Thanis! Damn you to the Nether and may you rot there for the rest of your undead existence!_

The Highlord had warned her, perhaps too late. Certainly not in time to give the elfin woman a chance to come up with a good reason why she should be spared. Necrophasia was just brimming with happiness. No doubt her understudy had something to do with how their Master had found out about it so quickly.

The Lich King sat back in his throne, a cold sheen of ice developing over his skin as his anger rose, "You mean to tell me that your most prized possession is being held by a single priestess – however powerful – and he may have intimate knowledge of the goings on of my kingdom? With knowledge of my plans for New Avalon?"

He waited for her answer while she gathered her thoughts. Panic was the first instinct but she long ago learned to allow it to wash over her and continue on downstream. _Today is not my day. I won't go down with you, Thanis. I've told you that already and now you make me prove it. _"Yes, my king. A weak link did indeed fall off the chain and land in the mud with the rest of the unworthy. However, he knew nothing and is not a threat to the Scourge. Our army is no less without him." Choking down her own rising anger at Koltira for allowing him to walk off the hold she spat out, "He was only a masterpiece who served no real function other than as a trophy for me to show off. I can get a new Kaldorie to replace him in Your service – it's not as if they aren't making more every day."

Thassarian, drunk and wobbling, sidled up to the group and put his two cents in. "I say we let those Light-hugging twats at Light's Hope use him for target practice and our dear mistress necromancer would probably looooovvve to watch." The black tatoos on his face wrinkled as he tried not to growl at said woman and added, "After all," he looked pointedly at the pale necromancer beside him, "he _is_ a weak link. What good has he honestly been to us? Other than keeping the mistress company and getting jealous when she lets anyone else near the goods?"

"Don't talk to me about getting near the goods when Koltira is the one who allowed him to - "

Her scathing rant was cut short by the dad tripped on his way into the arena while swatting at the worg. The man got a face full of brick while the worg got a mouth full of blood and the child's shrieks sent the Troll woman on a rampage. The paladin jumped back and pressed herself into the wall to avoid the raging Amani. Moments after the pregnant troll stormed into the arena, huge belly almost swinging with weight, the worg found itself under the Lich King's throne cowering as the former headhunter threw poisoned darts at it's flanks. She picked up her husband in one arm and her child in the other and trotted off to tend their wounds. Two attempts were needed to get through the door for a woman as drunk as she but eventually she made it up the steps without further delays.

The Paladin shook her head in amusement, locked eyes with the Lich King for a moment before settling on the kneeling elf. "Sounds like yer Necromancer's got ot'er things on 'er mind then one wayward ram. You got whole herds to tendin' to, don'che? Somethin' in yer voice tellin' me even you Scourge monsters got yer promises to keep." Though she had the right of it one did not converse with the enemy and so she was ignored.

_I made a promise... and everyone seems to know about it. I seem to be the only one who can't remember who I made it to and why... or even what it was I promised. I walked onto this ship willingly, lead by the hand of this great King who sits before me. I give my everything to the Throne and I don't even remember why. _The words stung, hurt throbbing in her chest from pain attached to a name not uttered in more than a decade. No matter what happened now, if she fell to the Paladin or went North, she couldn't stay to keep watch over the nameless anymore. _You ruined it all Thanis! I have to stay here. I'm suppose to stay here! _The mistress of the Ebon hold had no known weaknesses which could be exploited by others. However, admitting that Thanis was anything more than a piece of art would leave her open. As long as he existed and was not kept firmly by her side he could be used as a weapon against her.

Thassarian's want of seeing Thanis punished for upsetting the hold lifted a corner of the white haired King's mouth, "Ah, Thassarian," the undead Prince clasped a huge hand on the staggering man's shoulders, "You need for violence pleases me." He leaned back and looked at the ember-bitten elfin woman and her clenched fists. "I would like to see this useless whelp of yours taught a lesson about obedience." Glowing blue eyes dimmed for a second and flared to life with malicious intent, "I would hang him by his toes off the hold and strip his flesh inch by inch. You resurrected him with full feeling in his body, did you not? Another mark of your mastery. His screams would please me greatly."

_You don't care about him. Or me. Or any of us. You would hang me off the hold right now if any of them gave you a good enough reason, wouldn't you? I serve you so well and... and... you can't even let me keep the … one thing..._ The turmoil inside did not show without. The 'mancer's grin matched her Master's as her brown eyes met his blue ones, "For this betrayal I would do it myself. I will punish him in such a way that no Death Knight of Acherus will _ever_ dream of disobeying Your orders again. I promise." _I will give you a swift death compared to the one our Master would induce. _She had seen what He did to Sylvanas while she still lived. _The Quel'dorie deserved their punishments for bringing the Burning Legion on us, but you my pet are of my ilk and we take care of our own._

For a long moment the enormous Lich King only stared at her, boring his mind into hers and seeking out the truth of her statements. She was angry for sure, betrayed and needing revenge. It wasn't superficial benign platitudes, but a fury that ran deeper than even His plague went. Even the heart of his Death Knights could still be twisted against their Master if some conflagration of the Light or love broke them. Alonea's emotion ran bone deep, raw and pure. Real. "I would like to be there," he said, "I want no second hand reports of a punishment so black as to make my chosen shutter. Of course, if you balk at the task I shall see you join him in his torment."

_I choose me. Again. How many times am I going to have to choose me before he finally understands... What am I trying to make him understand? _Her fear of heights was linked to some turn of events that happened years and years ago when Thanis was first brought to the hold. Then as now she had made a choice.Her thoughts bounded around almost franticly but still it did not show on the outside."Yes, Master. Believe me. They won't be able to close their eyes without thinking of it. I have one request: Allow me to take Koltira. He needs to understand first hand what happens to those who do no follow orders in my Hold."

The Lich King laughed, leaning back comfortably and taking on a conversational tone. "You've given up on everyone it seems. Do you intend to go solo from now on?"

"Attachments are weaknesses. Isn't that the lesson You Yourself taught me? Thanis has gotten himself captured for the last time." Though she never died in the flesh she still experienced every other kind of death there was in her long life. Always she moved on to where other kaldorei resided; never accepted but never turned away. Power had that effect on people who needed what you have to give. That she would live to see thousands of years should she choose only made the millennias ahead stretch out into bleak nothingness if she would never know her own kind again. It was well known that elves don't make good free-willed Scourge. Thassarian knew that when he asked that Koltira be bound to him in the first place. It is also the reason only a handful of High Elves counted themselves amongst the Death Knights, compared to the hundreds that were represented amongst each of the other resurrectable races.

_Was it Your love for the Proudmore woman that made You to rip Your heart out in order to stop the longing to be with her? When the war is won will she be a Queen or a slave? Would that I could seal my heart in a crypt somewhere as You did. _ The nameless reason Alonea wanted to stay in the plaguelands was her last weakness. Though she didn't remember what the reason was she understood herself enough to trust that even before drawing the memories out she had made the decision to stay. If she played this last card correctly she could still win the game.

The King was speaking again. "I visited Andorhal once and came back with a shadow priestess fel bent on destroying all life on Azeroth. Your hatred of all things living impressed me. He was your most prized creation. Will you not miss him?" The question was a trap; Thanis fate had already been decided. Admit the longing and prove she still had that same weakness or lie to her Master and be destroyed for her blasphemy?

"Any kaldorie would do, Master." Smiling she tilted her chin up proudly, "I've already found another to take his place. If you would but permit me to retrieve him from Tirisfal. Give me this – if I win- and I gladly go to Northrend with you. I grow weary floating up here resurrecting ghouls when I can be of more use elsewhere." Punishing Thanis would not be enough to save her hide. Offering to go to Northrend only sweetened the pot. Their Master had been trying to pry her out of Acherus for a decade but always she found a reason to stay that even He could not argue with. Namely, that unnamed promise.

"Is that it then? You grow bored?" Necrophasia taunted pleasantly, sweetly. Alonea no longer viewed her as a threat but the way the woman spoke when in the presence of their King grated her nerves. Turning back to her King the younger 'mancer pleaded, "My King, allow me to accompany you to Northrend. I have more than proven my usefulness!"

"Enough, the two of you! Mewling at my feet like children." The 'mancers fell silent, watching him as he though for a moment. Mograin watched. Thassarian watched. The Paladin watched. A few moments and his hands came down slowly, eying the two women. He scoffed at the master necromancer's mortal needs, "Elves do not make the most stalwart of my champions, that is well know. Even in death you persist in remaining attached to your kin. I have nothing but pity for your whole breed. You do however make the most astounding necromancers the world has ever seen and for this I put up with your _neediness_." There was no warmth in his voice, only a mocking cold. She expected it, desired it even. How could she ever hope to live up to such great expectations as He had for her? "However, there is not enough time. Necophasia," he addressed the younger necromancer, "you will go to Tirisfal and get this night elf your mistress desires. Bring it back alive and unharmed or don't bother coming back."

Necrophasia paled, gasping, the ugly scars on her face standing out starkly against the graying flesh. She was afraid of the Dark Lady and the Scarlet. Alonea had made sure of that for her own reasons. She stayed in the hold because it was safe. However, refusal was not an option. Though Alonea had declined the invitation to Nothrend the first time around it had come with the understanding that her time in the Plaguelands was borrowed at best. How it would be paid back was probably going to be the moment that took the master Necromancer's life and made her a lich – or worse. Necorphasia had a rapport with their King, though she didn't have the same rapport Alonea did – nor the same bargaining skills as the centuries old kaldorei. "Surely I would not be made to go alone?" Pouting like a child she batted dark lashes at Him.

_Surely he won't send her to get my prize? I've played this game too long to let her incompetence ruin the final move for me!_ Alonea was sure this was why she hated children; their underdeveloped brains just couldn't be counted on in the moment of truth.

"No," the Lich King said, "Koltira, come forth!" The barking command rang through the room. Servants scattered as the blue and gray leather clad soldier strode forward. Today his hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung down his back and was interwoven with the bones of his most note-worthy conquests. Tight pants showed off his inability to bother with underwear and matched the tightly laced vest over a slate gray, long sleeve shirt. The boots were sensible rogue boots of soft leather and a silver dagger hung from a thin belt of natural blue naga leather. The dagger had four runes in the blade and two in the handle, making Koltira one of the few armed death knights in the hold who wasn't going to waste his time on the Paladin. There was defiantly something to be said for even Qual'dorie's vanity even if he was undead.

He went to kneel beside Alonea, supple leather not making a sound.

The Lich King stood stood, towering over the pair. "Koltira, I question the loyalty of any of my chosen who would allow their fellow Death Knights to disobey orders without even trying to intercede." The quel'dorie would have paled if he was not already white as death. "Those blasphemous mongrels at Light's Hope may very well find a way to get him to speak about what he knows, little as that may be. You will accompany us on your Mistresses mission of revenge and see for yourself what will happen to the next soldier who steps out of line. Afterward you will prove your loyalty to the Scourge; I am giving you command of forces to be sent to Tirisfal Glades. I have worked long and hard to bring the Scarlet Archbishop around to... my way of thinking. I have planted the seed. All you need to do is harvest the crops."


	14. Chapter 13

~Author's Notes~

I make two notes at the end of this chapter. One or both of which may be notes for the last chapter. It's 10:18 where I'm at and I was suppose to go to bed at 7 to get up for work tomorrow so you'll understand me not searching to find which of these two chapters the note(s) belong to :)

"You are the hole in my head

You are the space in my bed

You are the silence in between

What I though and what I said."

~ Florence & The Machine, _No Light, No Light_

~*~ Chapter 13 ~*~

~ Acherus: The Ebon Hold ~

Koltira was silent for a second too long before affirming his charge. "Yes, Master." The former high elf did not have the makings of a leader. In life and in death it was his lot to be a follower. Minionhood suited him well in both aspects of his existence. Few free-thinking Scourge chose to remain on the bottom of the latter but as it was here where Koltira's particular skills were best displayed. Climbing the ranks might mean getting transferred and the bond between Koltira and Thassarian was a shoddily kept secret all around.

"Master," Thassarian bowed deeply, "Allow me to accompany Koltira into the field. His lack of experience at commanding necessitates the presence of someone who has led others in battle. And should he fail I will be there to finish the job."

_Yes_, Alonea mocked inside her own head, _that is why you wis__h to accompany him and not the fact that you can't let your pet out of your sight for ten minutes before you fret like a cat who's lost it's kitten._(1) Mocking the fearful elf was beneath a woman of her stature but right now it felt good, even if only she could hear it.

The Lich King took another swallow of rotgut. "Can your pet not be left alone for even a few days?"

Koltira shifted uncomfortably but did not speak up to correct the assumption. "Thassarian's assistance would be greatly valued if my Master would permit it. We fight well together."

The King signed at the truth of these words, "The two of you are are indeed a glorious sight when fighting side by side and I would have these Scarlets awed and cowed. Thassarian may join you after this task is completed." Another drink and a finger pointed at the standing Human, "There is a Druid running about the Ghostlands or the Plaguelands or Tirisfal Glades that I want. Bring it back to me - back to your mistress- do you understand?"

"A … druid, my King?" The cold human was dumbfounded. Alonea was dumbfounded, as was the Highlord and the Paladin, who echoed the undead warriors words in her own brogue.

"Have you been to the Thelassian Pass recently?" The question was directed at both of the pale Human and the tattooed Quel'dorie. Their King knew the answer; the question was just a formality.

Koltira twitched but remained silent. He had not been back to his homeland since being chosen for the Lich King's service. Though he bore no love for the living kin he must still have in the world, the memories of what transpired to bring him to this moment were still fresh in his mind all these years latter. It was considered impolite amongst the Scourge to inquire of each other about their original homelands. The undead high elf avoided it if he could, never choosing to go back there or flat out refusing if pressed to.

"Neither of us have been there since you campaign which brought Koltira to Your service in the fist place." There was something to be said for Thassarian's tact. "What use have we to go to back to the place? Drathnir has everything under control. He keeps the High Elves busy in the Ghostlands and they do nothing to halt our progress through the rest of the world. They inherited the Night Elf's want of keeping to their own hearths."

The Lich King corrected his subject, "One of them may very well not be _keeping to their own_. Druidic magic built the protective barriers around that place. Though they do not follow Cenarion or any other blasphemous demi-gods I learned a lot about the powers of natural magic they are capable of wielding if pressed. The Rangers who guarded the pass gave us quite a mess of trouble with their bestial magic. I believe the survivors have indeed been pressured into drastic measures. Not that it saved them last time." The Lich King laughed a little, took another swig, and smiled at a malicious memory before continuing, "Not only have they allied with the Horde but are now using Druid magic to foil Drathnir's attempts to keep the land under Scourge control." He paused for effect before adding, "There are trees in Quel'thalas that consume the plague of undeath as fuel."

Alonea gasped. She had no idea there was such a thing in this world. Something stronger than the Scourge? Something _living_ stronger than the King of Death? Something inside her being shifted uncomfortably. For a decade she had understood that there was nothing stronger than the Scourge. What if she had been wrong...? _No!_ She stamped out the though aggressively. There was nothing stronger than the Lich King. Nothing that was stronger than Death. All living things had to die eventually.

The undead Prince continued with is story, "These trees are cleansing all traces of my conquest from the areas where they were planted. You," he pointed with his wine cup at Thassarian, "will go to the Elf Gates and investigate. Do not return until you have brought me back a full report of how and why and who planted those trees."

Thassarian looked dubious. It wasn't uncommon for the Lich King to send his minions on suicide missions if they had failed to please him. Though they were no longer patrolling their boarders as they had done in the past it didn't mean there weren't Rangers everywhere who could quickly assemble an ambush party to take down a lone death knight. Being alone would make him an open target. "There is but one druid to be found in any of the lands belonging to the undead of any kind and she is firmly ensconced at Light's Hope. Finding another may take some time."

The Lich King leaned forward, white hair sliding down his shoulders as he did. Menacingly he growled, "Then I suggest you leave soon!" His good mood was gone again as he slammed back into his seat and drained his glass. All three of his champions jumped and almost fled the room. "My officers will fill both you and Koltira in once the paladin is slain." Both officers stood drunk in the corner singing "Two Ghouls and in a Hot-tub" while trying to skewer mice with toothpicks as they skittered across the buffet snagging bits of food as they went.

Koltira and Thassarian bowed deeply and left their King to his drinking and revelry. All four -officers included-sequestered themselves in a corner. Not that they wouldn't be able to overhear everything that was said but at least this way there was the illusion of privacy.. Alonea felt the missing coolness of their bodies beside her and the fact that the room around her was that much more empty than it had been moments ago. The Highlord was similarly dismissed with orders to "fetch me something pretty". _Good luck with that_, Alonea though. Nothing on this monstrosity of a floating necropolis could be considered pretty. The spellflinger's jewelry wasn't exactly worth pilfering.

Necrophasia sat on the ground beside the throne and tried to play with the worg pup. Two shocks and one nasty bite latter she gave up, pouting and sulking and hoping the her Prince in Dark Armor would deem to grace her with His attention again. Soon preferably.

"Now," the Litch King intoned to Alonea, "You wish to fight the the paladin?"

"Yes, my liege. I want to prove my loyal to You and to the Scourge."

"Have you seen the Plaguelands recently? They belong to me now. Partially because of you." His wavering finger pointed in her general direction and did he just hiccup? "You did a great job in Andorhal. You did a great job at Light's Hope afterwards. You've done a wonderful job giving me the highest quality Death Knights I could want. Except Thanis. But he was your pet from the get-go, I don't deny the bargain we made concerning him. All these years you've served me, doing everything I ask except one. You denied me when I would have you go to Northrned. I know about your promise; everyone knows but you at this point. If you've taken your own memory of it and cannot even recall why you denied me then what is keeping you here now?"

_Because I made that promise to you, didn't I? You've never broken a promise to anyone who served the Scourge in return for Your word. I don't trust myself to know that it was important but, my Liege and Destiny, I trust that because You let me stay it must have been important._ "Do no doubt my loyalty. I have belonged to and obeyed You alone since I came to You all those years ago. My will is free enough to walk off this hold at any moment. I don't because I don't want to. I would sooner You took my soul with Frostmourn and keep me with You forever, to be tied to everyone who ever fell beneath You, if I am truly unworthy. Do not question my desire to serve the Scourge. This world needs to die and I am going to see that it does."

He was pleased to hear this, grinning with lips almost as pale as his hair, "We want the same things, you and I, but I do not believe we want them for the same reasons. Either way you serve the Scourge better alive and so I do not feed you to my sword and, as I said, I allow you your wants and whims in return for the pleasures of your service. However, when the day comes that you do not serve me as promised you will no doubt find that remaining by my side by being trapped in my blade may not be the eternity you imagine. Either way, I question your loyalty because for a woman of your desire and talents it is puzzling that you have chosen to remain here, where the pickings are obviously slim. When we arrive in Northrend there will be thousands who will know your name and your deeds. I will make you a queen."

Alonea the kaldorei shadow priestess had seen the rise and fall of a half dozen empires in her day, "There are many queens in Northrend, my liege. I doubt they need more."

The Lich King pointed his wobbly fist-full-of-cup at the paladin, "I offered to make her a queen too. She said exactly the same thing. Is it an Alliance trait then? I never met a Hordie who didn't jump at the chance to strap on a pair of wings and rule under me as a Blood Queen." The last corpse the paladin faced still smoldered where it dropped. "She doesn't like me very much. I took her hammer."

Did the subject just get changed? Alonea had never seen the King behave this way before. He sounded almost wounded that the Light-infused Paladin didn't jump at the chance to rule the armies of the Scourge by the Lich King's side. If the paladin pretended not to hear the exchange of words she ignored them until he mentioned the hammer, "And my rabbit, yah great oof! I want Bunnicula back safe and sound! (2)"

If the Lich King pretended he couldn't hear her that ended upon hearing the name she'd given the purloined snow-shoe hare. "Mr. _Bunnicula_ is being well cared for." The insane King spread his hands accommodatingly while taking on a tone of a pet store manager. "Three square meals a day and all the hay he can eat. Fresh vegetables and an exercise wheel in a five story habitat consisting of 32 feet of chemical free clear tubes in a non-wire bottom cage. Four hours of free-roaming playtime with 10 different flavored chews and 15 toys and fresh water imported from frozen streams in the Alteracs." Water not tainted with the plague was a commodity in the Plaguelands so any of it that was worth drinking had to be imported. How exotic.

The paladin was surprised, "I only let 'im out to run when I'm in town..."

"Mr. Bunnicula has requested that I reanimate a lawyer so that he can sue you for custody of himself. Until then he's remanded himself to my care."

"Aye? He did not!"

"He says I take better care of him than you do."

"He did not!"

"He says 'So long and thanks for all the memories of chasing after you while you galloped about on your warhorse'. That's animal abuse, by the way."

"I got a slow mount and how els am I suppose to exercise him? Between trainin' and fetchin' red bandannas for crazy old broads in Stormwind I got nary a moment to spend keepin' up mah critters."

"Yeah. About that. I've killed a lawyer. You're going to be filed with custody papers as soon as the neophytes reanimate her and she develops a Scourge law practice."

The paladin was speechless. For a minute at least. "Yer drunk. E'en I've en'er been so drunk I talked to rabbits!"

The king laughed.

Necrophasia tilted her head and chided, "Careful how you speak to the Master, Paladin. We don't take kindly to that tone of voice."

The sprite woman's green eyes locked with the necromancer's softly glowing white eyes and said, "I'll take a tone with you if tha monster but look away a moment!"

"Enough. I asked you a question, Alonea." The King's humor swung back to ire in seconds. Bunnicula's fate would have to be decided another day. "You have agreed to come with me to Northrend provided you defeat the paladin and receive another elf to … keep you company? Will any elf do if Thassarian brings me one from my territories in the Ghostlands? I know animals arn't your thing so he'd have to bring another one besides the druid. Or would you perhaps like to try a druid again?"

_Again? _"I care little for the Quel'dorie. As far as I'm concerned they deserved to be crushed under the boot heel of the Scourge. Everyone deserves to be brought low and wrung of life." _Their punishment can never be severe enough._ It drove the necromancer crazy just thinking about the thousands who escaped the genocide of the High Elves. The Master had been _furious_ at the Ranger General for all the trouble he had cost her in getting to the Sunwell. It wasn't enough to take it out on her; he had to take it out on the entire population down to the last squealing infant.

Koltira didn't even blink when he overheard this exchange of words. He cared not for his race now that he himself had been wrung of life and chained to the Lich King's indomitable will. In another life he had been living and warm and filled with a love of life and an understanding that all people were capable of doing the right thing if given the chance, no matter their previous sins. It had cost him dearly when he confronted a death knight about a glimmer of humanity which had been shown when sparing the life of another elf – Kiltira's own brother. Refusing to believe that Thassarian's soul could not be saved he had chased him over the latter half of Quel'thalas before the death knight yielded to the Will of his King and battled the warrior. It ended as it had to – with Thassarian cradling the broken body of the dying High Elf and promising to give him eternal life in exchange for never leaving his side. Once raised he had fought his own people as fiercely as the ones who brought him low. Being freed of the Lich King's will was the worst thing that could ever happen to a death knight. Certainly remembering what they had done would drive them insane without the Lich King's conviction's to take away the grief and pain.

"If everyone deserves to be wrung of life then why ask me for a _living_ night elf? That last one at least was made for my use." The Lich King knew something she didn't yet she was not surprised. He knew a great many things she didn't. During training she knew she had taken a great deal of her own memories and stored them in the locket kept in the dresser of her bedroom. She often wore the locket when she was feeling froggy, but not in front of the Lich King. Never in front of Him. Elves were fond of enchanting jewelry. Usually it was a ring or a gem that was socketed in a weapon but Alonea knew the art of enchanting flesh and bone. The locket held a lock of hair. Whos hair? She couldn't remember and never tried to make herself, trusting that if she removed the memory in the first place then there was a very, very good reason why.

"My King will understand me when I say that He enjoys using the living to torment the dead. You keep that rabbit to annoy the paladin. You let Koltira have his horse while it was still alive – till he forgot to feed it for a month and it died. You allow the halfbreed husband of the brothel matron to remain to spite the Highlord. You brought a lightning worg into a necropolis full of plate-wearing soldiers and I know how that's going to end. Lets not forget the incident with the Ranger General and her pet... " The Lich King sat back in his throne, bemused at her grasping of a game he played that no one else had figured out yet. "Every necromancer dies in the end. The plague turns us all in a year or 15. I've lasted this long because I'm kaldorie and we are a much sturdier race than the rest. However, someday I will die. Will it not be … interesting to seeing what happens when I do?"

Grinning the unhandsom Prince ran a finger over his bottom lip. "I think I would like to see this. You've been messing with your own memories again, Alonea. I had warned you to stop. But it's too late now. I'll give you want you want but I believe that in the end you'll find it's not what you wanted at all. Yes, I do enjoy using the living to torment to dead or soon-to-be-dead. However, I don't think Serz Huzad or Sylvanas will give the welp up that easily. After all, they have both gone through great troubles to keep that spark of your old life hidden from you all these years. Oh, you didn't know they kept company of the living? Well you would if you'd quit pulling out your own memories to stop yourself going to retrieve the thing. Yes, I know about that too. You never wear that locket when I'm around, Alonea. You don't think it's been notice?

What any one Scourge knows, _I know_."

Just then the Highlord came back, holding out something to his King that was indeed "pretty".

Alonea's locket.

~End Notes~

1). I once had a male cat who went apeshit when I took my female cat's kittens to the vet for their first round of shots. He searched the house high and low, calling out to them and scent marking everything in sight (as much as a neutered cat can). When the kittens were finally home he actually chased the mom off and attempted to nurse them himself. From that day on I noticed him taking over kitten-sitting duties, giving impromptu hunting lessons and grooming any of them that would hold still long enough. I guess that's the difference between domestic and wild cats. How does this relate to the story? Night Elves are Crazy Cat People so Alonea understands social interactions more from the point of view of a feline than from a person. You'll also find out why in a few more chapters.

2). I have never owned a rabbit so forgive me if I don't get the details right. My roomie has two guinea pigs, however,and they are the most high maintenance pets EVER. Bunnicula will be a raid boss in patch 37.3 (Pre-Jezus Krist raid boss after we've killed all the Titans, Old Gods, Aspects – and Onyxia, one more time because THREE TIME WANST ENOUGH APPARENTLY), you watch. He's going to bond with Frostmourn and try to take over Northrend. Which will give Blizz an excuse to make another Northrned patch.


	15. Chapter 14

~ Author's Notes~

There is something wrong with the text editing of this chapter. On my computer it's fine but when it's uploaded all the texts shifts to middle. I've tried uploading it once again and if it's still in the middle with this upload then just copy and paste to a blank wordpad and read it that way. It should revert to correct format.

Onward to your regularly scheduled fanfiction!

Billy Joel wants you to know:

We didn't start the fire.

It was always turning since the worlds been burning.

We didn't start the fire.

And tough we didn't light it we still try to fight it..."

~*~ Chapter 12 ~*~

~ Light's Hope, The Crypts ~

~ The Next Morning~

Morning in the Plaguelands brought about a series of wild howling. As usual the woods were alive with things trying their best to survive their undead afterlife, but also a certain undead prisoner who was upset at not being served breakfast in bed.

"It needs a bath." Rayne stared down the standing death knight with a will to match his own. Her crossed arms and their lowered chins made glaring even easier since Rayne had removed his thick collar, insisting it was overkill. Mell'marie hadn't argued, knowing full well that kaldorei who had a problem with each other liked to be on equal footing before the fighting broke out. The better to know how throughly they thrashed their opponent.

Apparently undead kaldorei were not the exception since he didn't even try to spit plague in her face as she unclasped the thick metal band.

"_He_ wants breakfast!" The unkempt keldorie made a comment about smelling food cooking, to which Rayne replied she was surprised he could smell anything over his own stench. Tactfully he ignored the jibe.

"Bacon," sniff-sniff, "eggs and biscuits. And honey." Sniiiiiffff. "And someone in your laughingly small 'fortress' is squirreling away regulation-breaking amounts of gunpowder. Should look into that before she blows us all sky-high." Upon realizing what he just said the face under the grime scrunched up in though. "On second thought I always wanted to fly. Alonea won't let me try it though."

Mell'marie flowed down the steps carrying two covered trays of food. Her blue and white novice robes were replaced with light tan and white. These colors more befit the druid than the priestess but days spent traveling through this dirty territory necessitated the cleaning of her normal attire. Lord Raymond had generously supplied lodging in a shanty off the beaten path and had one of the laundry lads tending to her traveling attire.

The undead man just stared and sulked as she and the druid sat down to a leisurely breakfast.

Sometime in the night a table and chairs were brought in and a thick Light-infused tapestry depicting scenes of battle now hung over the door. Apparently the Death Knight talked in his sleep and his words disturbed the guards. Hearing this brightened the chilly warrior's mood considerably.

"It needs a bath." Raye reiterated to the arriving priestes. "The chapel is downwind and only Brother Bartholemew can be in there right now." The undead follower of the Dark Lady was currently under the direct protection of Highlord Tirion Fordring and if the Scarlet lady restrained herself enough not to try to kill 'him' then so could the rest of them. Mr. Fordring was currently out right now but the absence of his friend would not go unnoticed.

"I agree," the priestess said to the druid while draping her napkin in her lap and lifting the lids off the silver trays. "But how do you bathe a wild animal that doesn't want a bath?" Just where the cook had been squirreling away actual silver trays was a mystery. Apparently even Fordring wasn't worthy of this dining service.

"Try asking _him_ nicely?" The 'wild animal's opinion was ignored.

Rayne began picking at her fare delicately, eating with tiny bites slow enough to elicit non-word sounds from the audience. "Hot water and some steel wool should do it. I can't even make out the features of the face through the layers."

"This is my coat of honor and I'll be blessed to life before I let you take it away from me!" Thoughts of Koltira and his baby-smooth skin and shining armor popped into his head boldly calling him a liar. There were other reasons he kept the coating but he'd never admit it to anyone. Probably because he didn't remember them since his last visit to master necromancer to have another stubborn memory removed.

"Here?" Mel'marie broke open a golden brown biscuit and watched the steam rise. Across the room a deep inhale was followed by another stomach growl, "There isn't a place on this whole hillside that is good for it, and with the bodies down here -" she indicated the white canvas draped shapes in the hundreds of niches along the wall "-any trace of the plague which gets on them could make it that much easier to raise."

The death knight chuckled but didn't say anything. The Plague of Undeath was not the only power capable of raising the dead. Maybe he wasn't clever like Alonea or magic-wielding like Koltira or leadership-worthy like Thessarian, but he had his moments and this was going to be one of them. The bound warrior sat and waited his opportunity. All he needed was a certain rune...

Rayne declined the bacon and passed it over to Mell'marie. She was vegetarian, with the exception of eggs and that Alterac swiss that came in the supply crates. "We have a mage who can make a barrier to seal off the bodies from getting infected."

The death knight grinned, pleased to hear it. So many bodies... so many _dead_ bodies... This is going to be fun. _Too bad the Scarlet woman doesn't remember me or there would be no way they'd ever have let me remain here with all the host of dead knights._ Briefly he wondered if his King knew about the crypts and their occupants. It was not in him to question however and he allowed the though to slip away.

The women ate in silence for a moment while the prisoner went back to sulking and rattling his chains in annoyance. Absentmindedly he began to sing. "_A shot through the heart for the brave one who parts, The best of intentions brings ruinous starts_."

Rayne slowly turned her head to listen to him closer, "I knew you said he sang but I had no idea you were serious..."

"If his songs made any sense. I told you they took his language? I wonder what the sang before he learned to speak Common."

A snort floated across the room, "I'm a 'he' now? Moment's ago I was an 'it'. I seem to be moving up in the world!"

"You started it!" Rayne snapped, throwing a biscuit at the man. When he snatched it out of mid-air with his mouth she jumped back in her seat. Inclining his head he worked his jaw to get a better hold on the food and anchor it with thick canines. Nothing either women had ever seen looked as sinister as a Death Knight eating a biscuit without his hands, all while staring at them unblinkingly and grinning ear to ear. In the faded light of the crypts his glowing eyes cast fiendish shadows down his armor and across his face.

When he finished he sat back down roughly, chains rattling as they were yanked through the loops. _"A cry at twilight of nightmarish fright, What hides in the day comes for you at night._"

"His singing is terrible." Rayne commented, "but do you think there might be some truth to it? You know, like riddle-songs?"

The priestess munched on some bacon and raised both eyebrows, "He's in love with the necromancer who raised him. Maybe it's her?"

The Death Knight sputtered into silence, almost blushing under his much coat. "Did I fall down on my knees, produce roses and hand my frozen heart to anyone last night? Don't put words in my mouth; it's nigh rude!"

"Your stench is rude," Rayne snapped again, drizzing honey over her second biscuit.

Her priestess companion tried not to spit out her food laughing. "Do the Scourge teach etiquette?"

"When my Master puts His hands upon you there will be nothing left but the purest understanding of how one should behave." He cocked his head and smiled a little, dark yellow teeth showing, "Assuming you survive long enough."

That sobered the two women up. They went back to discussing how to bathe the writhing thing. The stench from him was drawing carrion birds for hundreds of miles around and the last thing Light's Hope needed was a bird infestation. Halfway through the conversation they still hadn't come to a consensus on how it would happen and their "guest's" underbreath singing had come to be a slight annoyance.

Luckily Lord Raymond came barreling through the door. Leveling one look at the distrusting Scourge warrior in the corner and barked, "Why isn't that thing gagged? He cost a man half a face last night!"

Mell'marie, not used to men speaking to her this way since leaving the Human kingdoms some years before, slowly put her fork down. "Try it," she challenged, knowing full well she wasn't putting her hands anywhere near that things mouth. Not without the Light-wrought chains she was too drained to call at the moment.

Sick pleasure flickered through the Death Knight's eyes as he got to his feet. Smiling wide enough to show off the impressive fangs his race possessed he solicited the Argent Lord, "Please do try it. I bite hard but the pain only lasts until the plague kills you. Seek death."

The man looked affronted until Mell'marie took her second biscuit and tossed it at the undead elf. The speed with which he snatched the flaky pastry from the air caused the over-puffed leader to stagger back a step. The same maneuvering of tongue and jaw had the food firmly pierced with fangs in seconds. This time he started unblinkingly at Lord Raymond while eating.

"That is disgusting." Lord Raymond turned his back on the creature, as much to get it's eyes off of his own as to pretend he wasn't shaken, "What do you plan to do with it? None of the Argent Dawn who are here are strong enough or trained to perform an interrogation on one of Arthas' chosen champions. I sent letters out to our Guardtowers in the Western Plaguelands via goblin post but so far I've only gotten one letter back. I have no idea how goblins can move that fast because I'm very certain that the Lich King's minions don't think of them as neutral. Anyway, the Tauren who are currently holding the East tower suggest we burn it but arn't otherwise too helpful.(1)"

"_Laying to waste the weakness of life, Raised for great purpose and tempered in strife." _

A chill ran down the living man's spine as he realized the strange, metallic singing came from the corpse behind him. "I know you said he sings but I though somehow you were mistaken."

"My song once saved a woman's life. Isn't that worth something to you, Lordling?" His tone of voice gave the priestess pause. She studied him a moment wondering why he cared if the Argent Dawn's leader knew he had once protected a life.

Lord Raymond was about to inquire but Mell'marie interupted with her own questions, which were so much more important, "Let me guess, Alonea?"

_That's it. Take the bait. Om nom nom._

"She says her thanks in so many tiny ways. Likes beating me with her hairbrush to leave the lion shaped patterns on my backside. Much nicer to look at than the patterns her whips leave."

After several seconds of pause Mell'marie finally sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. "Ok, I'll bite. Why lion shaped?"

"From the hairbrush." A sadness washed over his face but was visibly forced back. Rayne took note however, seeing the shift in his ears indicating grief. Mell'marie noted when the druidess brushed her hand and pointed to his ears.

"There is a lion on the hairbrush?" Mell began paying more attention to his reaction to telling the story than the story itself. She kept him talking to gauge his response. Apparently something about this tale had a tragic ending.

"Yes, a gold one." The grief was gone now, forced back inside in moments and sealed away.

"Where did a Scourge Necromancer get a gold hairbrush with a lion on it?" When the inquiry time came she'd stick around long enough to find out what he wasn't saying but being drained from the exertions the night before meant she'd bide her time for answers.

He was genuinely delighted she asked when he answered, "A princess in Theramor masquerading as an SI-7 agent-"

Lord Raymond suddenly launched himself at the undead man, swinging his gloved fists quick enough to catch the flies buzzing about. Two shots in the jaw and the Death Knight just laughed, "Mistress asked if she could have it!" _Hit-hit!_ "The woman didn't say no!" _Hit-Laugh-hit._ The sickening sound of the crunching of metal on face made the seated women stop eating and cross their arms. "Well, the Master sent us there to see if the woman was who rumors were saying she may be-" Hit-laugh- "Mmhhh-mfh?"

Lord Raymond waited for a particularly big laugh and ripped his mail glove off and shoved it into the Death Knight's mouth. The undead man blinked. Blinked again, bit down on the glove and tried to spit it out. The links caught on his canines and wouldn't be dislodged.

He hadn't expected that.

"I didn't get to my position by not knowing how to silence those who talk too much." Lord Raymond turned and sauntered away. The tainted man behind him sagged against the wall in disbelief and rattled to the floor a second latter. _This wasn't what I expected. What would Alonea do? _

When he got across the room Lord Raymind leaned against the wall opposite the prisoner, arms and legs crossed. Without looking at the ladies he threw out all the information his dealings with his own SI-7 contacts had gathered overnight all at once" "It's name is Thanis Deadsong. He's the masterpiece of a night elf necromancer called Alonea No-Last-Name. I hear she's very attached to him – takes him with her everywhere she goes in fact. Our sources were clear in that there isn't going to be a rescue party since the Lich King is currently at Acherus right now questioning that thing's mistress as to why she allowed one of his chosen to fall into enemy hands so easily." The last part was directed at the prisoner. Lord Raymond was more than happy to just hold it inside the tombs if doing so caused any kind of strife in the floating necropolis. Especially if it got a necromancer killed- those vile creatures who created champions of the Scourge out of the honorable fallen champions of the Light.

The man on the far wall froze, face blank, jaw relaxing where he was chewing at the metal links of the mail glove. Absolute silence was followed by a deep inhale of breath from across the room. Then an exhale.

Suddenly the mail when flying out of his mouth in a shower of blue frozen sparks. Where they rained down on the bodies in the nearby niche they smoldered. Before any of them could react the entire crypt shook as the angry wails of the dead took them all to the floor. Dust rained from the ceiling with ear-shattering vibrations.

"I got my position by being able to silence people as well. But I'm just as adept as making the silent talk; a surprising by-product of my Mistress!" With hands chained in the wall over his head it wasn't very hard for him to assume the casting position. Arms up, blue eyes glowed as his hands traced glowing sigils in the air. The ground began to shake and break where the shattered bits of metal touched.

The death knight was raising the dead.

~ End Notes ~

1). In Vanilla the Guardtowers in the Plaguelands were PvP zones. If you flagged yourself and kept it under your control for 5 min (or so) then you would gain control of the tower. I honestly can't remember why but I believe it had something to do with increasing the drop rate of scourgestones in Strath, Scholo and Nax. Correct me in comments if I'm wrong and I'll change this note.


	16. Chapter 15

"I know the territory; I've been around

It'll all turn to dust and it'll all fall down..."

~ Meatloaf, I Would Do Anything for Love

But he won't do that.

~*~ Chapter 15 ~*~

Lord Raymond – protective by nature – was attempting to herd the women-folk out of danger. Rayne issued a feral growl as several of the bodies in the niches twitched violently. One of them – rather fresh to the grave- growled in answer. The doorway flooded with dozen paladins all bearing flaming Light-blessed weapons of their choice.

Mell'marie preferred a bear between her and danger. Soft humans in metal cans were not the same thing. "Get behind me!" she ordered the two people beside her. Throwing her chair swiftly stopped the Death Knight's spell and nearly took out a paladin in the process. The man ducked and fled back into the hallway, unsure of who was the enemy.

The Scourge prisoner barked "ow!", clumsily protesting this mistreatment. Concentration broken his hands stopped moving and the magic-infused bits of metal winked out. Mell'marie would have to remember to keep metal out of reach. Trust a follower of the Light to give the thing something as base as a mail glove for use as a weapon.

"Like you can even feel it!" Mell was in no mood to care about damaged feelings. Not with two of the bodies rising from the niches and several more thrashing as their souls re-entered their corporeal shells. Lord Raymond, red face with rage, rushed the Death Knight and slammed an elbow into his gut. The Argent leader was strong-probably stronger than anyone Mell'marie had seen in her life- but the thick armor around the undead soldier just clanged noisily and the body inside it was throw back against the wall with enough force to crack the stones.

The wind was knocked out of the startled undead, who attempted to reach for the warm thing which was once again punching him in the face- Why had he left his helm back at Acherus as well as his runblade? - but chained arms came up inches short.

"You will cease and desist! Cease and desist!" Lord Raymind barked the command over and over as if it would somehow make the thing he was pummeling stop it's assault on the dead.

"RAYMOND!" Rayne's chided in time to worn the man of danger from behind. From the rock-cut graves in the wall half a dozen bodies shook off their death shrouds and clumsily, slowly rose.

Lord Raymond whirled in time to get shoved aside by the grave-cold hands of the freshest of the niche dwellers. The paladin's didn't dare move in to defend their leader in such close proximity. Mell'marie was shouting at some of them to leave; the room was much too crowded now and all those weapons were just level with her neck. The risen dead walked stiffly towards the man who raised them.

The Death Knight began cackling in glee. "Now taste my wrath! Minions, kill them all!" A shiver went down several spines as four of the six newly undead turned their glowing white gazes upon Lord Raymond.

"Minions?" One of the newly risen asked. She looked confused and perturbed as she went charging up to her 'master'. "Excuse me?" she demanded of of the chained kaldorei, "I'm a card carrying member of the Knights of the Silver hand; I am no Scourge murder-machine's lackey!"

If a sight was seen in all of Light's Hope it was a stunned Death Knight, mouth hanging open in surprise and sputtering to argue with something that by all rights should be soul-bound to his will. Not unlike he himself was bound to the Lich King and the necromancer who raised him.

"Check your, woman," he ordered, "because you're dead now! Last I heard they don't let the dead join anything that crusades for the Light."

"Ah, that would not be entirely true." Rayne said, "We only have one undead member as of yet but we are not opposed to others."

Obediently the undead did indeed check her pulse. Lord Raymond glanced around to see the others doing the same. Glancing around her the former Silver Hand paladin sought confirmation from the others. They were indeed dead... undead.

Lord Raymon's gloveless hand itched to reach for his weapon but at the moment no one was attacking and if he read it correctly this idiot "champion of the Scourge" had raised free-willed undead. He knew a thing or two about them since his last trip to Undercity. He'd barely made it out alive after the Dark Lady's cook tried to kill him (the woman defiantly was not a baker in her former life but her steak pies were good if you manged to eat around the broken glass) but the understanding he'd gained from meeting and talking to the Forsaken on equal terms was groundbreaking for their cause.

"So?" The woman was not impressed with her would-be master or lack of pulse. "How does that mean I work for you?"

Her open challenge made an tide of purple anger rise in the bound man's cheeks. He gnashed teeth in irritation. Why hadn't the spell worked? He used it a dozen times over to call up lesser minions. None of them had ever argued with his domination... So what was different now? _Raising up free-willed undead is _not_ what Alonea would have done..._

_On top of being captured by a child and handed over the the Argent Dawn I also failed to hold sway over my own creations. By the Throne I hope no one at Acherus ever hears about this! _He pictured the look on everyone's face as Alonea was disgraced in front of King and cause for yet another of his transgressions.

"Listen," he said slowly, "You're dead. It's a fact. I'm dead. Another fact. We're on the same side. I'm chained up. A third fact. You arn't. These people are the enemy. Final fact: kill them before they kill you."

Mell'marie shouldered her way forward till she was standing beside the fresh undead. The woman was considering the Death Knight's words. Lightly Mell touched her arm where a bit of flesh showed through the white burial gown she wore. The woman flinched, pulled away. "He's right in one regard. You're undead. But your soul is still pure. It just now entered your body once again. In time it'll become corrupted and the Light won't recognize it." The priestess tried not to openly stare at being so close to an undead. In all her travels she had never seen one so... fresh.

"We didn't ask for this." The lady was not happy. Whatever way she died must have been hidden under the rotting burial gown for not a thing about her gave a clue. "Damn..."

"Damned," one of the others corrected, "As in the Light doesn't want us anymore. We'll never see redemption." He looked ready to pounce the nearest paladin to him, who had her sword up between the two of them. Any sudden movements and he'd be a undead kabob.

The tension mounted in the room. A dozen paladins, plus Mell and Rayne and Lord Raymond versus six newly raised dead who had no sense of pain and were nigh hard as fel to kill right out of the grave.

One of the men turned to the chained kaldorei, "What do I get in return?"

His deep voice responded cooley, "Eternity by the Lich King's side."

Raising an eyebrow one of the two who had been silent up to that point quipped, "The Light won't have me and I don't want Him. Maybe the Dark Lady is still recruiting. Yeah. No. I'm out. Peace." He flashed the forked V that Humans used to indicate good-will and headed for the door.

One of the paladin's stopped him, blocking his progress with mace in one hand and a shield in the other. "You arn't going anywhere. There are civilians out there and I'm not letting something like you run rampant threw our establishment." The undead man looked ready to pounce the paladin and this time there were two others close enough to the same. Mell raised both eyebrows in amusement and hoped the man knew how to use that shield.

"I think this has all been a misunderstanding." Rayne lowered the man's sword with the lightest touch of her finger. Everyone loved Rayne; no one was willing to act against the wishes of their resident Druidess. Thanks to her several areas of the Plaguelands were already re-populated with untainted plants and wildlife returning to it's former beauty. The sword lowered but the shield stayed in place. "Freshly raised you may be, but your hearts and minds are still amongst the living. There are options for ...people... like you. If you but come with me I will explain them to you."

The brown haired undead woman tilted her head and crossed her arms, "Do any of them involve us walking out of this with our … afterlife... in tact?" That one must have been a leader in her day. The rest kept looking to her for acknowledgment. Perhaps they served in the same regimen at one time.

Rayne smiled as if the body and soul she gazed upon were not abomination of the right laws of nature, going against all her worldly teachings, "Of course. We at Light's Hope understand there are indeed free-willed undead. The Argent Dawn is in fact looking to recruit if you'd be interested in taking up the shield or sword once more and continuing to serve. We truly value-" these words emphasized with proper hand gestures "-fighters of your new-found strength and longevity."

"And the fact that you don't have to feed us." There was a iron fire poker pushing aside the Light-infused drapes across the door. In the hallway stood a shadowed undead wearing the tabard of the Argent Dawn. His face wasn't visible but he shivers that wend through his bent body at being so close to the tapestries showed him to be amongst the undead.

There was silence in the room. The undead woman though for all of them who were freshly raised. Finally she met Rayne's gaze, "I was not a sword-warrior or a mage; I was not a paladin or one of those few human scouts that Lady Sylvanas took under her wing-"

"I was!" one of the men near the door chirped and waved. His voice was too high pitched for his chubby face. When he started to rot again it would not be pretty. "They killed my cat though..."

"- and I was not a sneaky-sneak as those dogs in Stormwind who won't admit whom they hire to do their dirty work. I lived as a Priestess of the Light!" Faster than anyone could thing she slipped into the fighting stance which was so familiar to the Shadow Sisters. A cry to the heavens of plea for reentry into the Light's embrace issued from her lips and from her soul burst forth an fountain of golden Light.

She screamed to feel it surge through her undead form. They all screamed to feel it slam into them, pushing them back a step. Light it may be but her body would no longer let her posses it. Her untainted soul on the other hand... her soul would not give it up. "I lived by the Light and I died by the Light. I will only suffer undeath until such time as the Light finds me unrecognizable and abandons me. Then," she whispered exhausted as she fought to stop the spark of the reignited soul-flame from burning her body to ash,"and only then will I go into the flame."

Mell'marie watched in awe. She remembered when the soul-flame of Elune had come upon her. The burning which didn't hurt and the ache that followed which drove her almost insane until she found the source. At ten she had run away from home to seek out the source of the flame. A year latter she found a bear on the shores of the Zoram Strand who was being butchered by a band of Naga...

In the end the undead priestess won the battle with her own soul and the flame was contained (1). She made made the decision for them all that they would remain at Light's Hope ("Wherever that is...") and give the Druid, Lord Raymond and Brother Bartholomew the chance to see if they could do better fighting the Lich King's minions this time around.

For his part the Death Knight stared at the ceiling of his prizon and fumed quietly to himself. Occasionaly he muttered a mocking statement after one of those present but otherwise caused no trouble. He didn't even try to bite his captor when she walked up and patted his head in a "it'll be alright" gesture. "Don't patronize me!"

"You're going to be loads of fun for them once I'm gone. I can tell already."

"Once you're gone what is to hold me here. None of them posses the strength of the Light which you do. Once I regain my strength not even these chains will hold me."

"I am a conduit for the Will of Elune; I do not follow the Light. However, you are correct. But that's their problem, not mine. I have a druid to find."

The Death Knight laughed as he often did, to himself at some private joke and called out as Mell'marie left the crypt, "Alonea found a druid once. All she had to do was call, 'Here, Kitty Kitty! Heeere, Kitty Kitty!' It leaped over the railing though... but didn't get away."

His laughter echoed in the empty tomb.

~ End Notes ~

Lore suggests there is no way for there to be undead holy priests. However, in-game lore differed from established cannon in that there are more than one 'excuses' offered via snippets of quests, etc for why some undead may indeed be able to wield the holy Light. There is a Forsaken NPC who uses holy spells at Domination Point, for instance. In this case I chose to go with in-game lore which allows Forsaken to channel the Light with the downside being a great amount of pain caused to them as it moves through their undead bodies.

There are actually two drafts of this chapter and the second one had a very different ending. I changed it because it took the story in an entirely different direction from where it needs to go.


	17. Chapter 16

~ Author's Notes ~

Some time ago, when I first begin writing "Cat in the Bag: The Druid Pawn" I noticed my chapters fell into lengths of 3-4 pages and so I started writing chapters to be this long. The upside is that writer and reader got frequent breaks from the story. The downside is cutting scenes in half which really should be read in one sitting. Recently I've caught myself wincing at the rushed pace of some chapters which I had edited down to 4 pages which really should have been left at 6+.

I think it's time I stopped doing that.

Thans' current song is based on "Changeling Child" by Heather Dale, though _he_ doesn't know that, of course.

~*~ Chapter 16 ~*~

~* Light's Hope Chapel, Next "Morning-ish" *~

He was singing again. "_The wind blows low and mournful through ruined Andorhal/Where once there lived a woman who plotted it should fall_."

"Are you still upset Ms. Caroline and her company abandoned you?" Rayne openly gloated at their prisoner. Caroline Epsfield, the woman who's company was raised last night in the crypts, were settling nicely into their new quarters in Light's Hope. That is if the Scarlet ambassador could be convinced their presence wasn't because the Argent Dawn were secretly raising armies of the undead on the Lich King's behalf.

But that was ambassador's work and it was below Rayne's paygrade.

Rayne was here to un-gunk her fellow Kaldorie and find out what happened that brought him to the Plaguelands to begin with. She understood as all Kaldorei did that their race was the master race of Azeroth. In her mind their race was uncorrupted and incapable of bending to the Lich King. Something must be wrong with him. Perhaps he was weak minded and had been cast out of his own society? This would explain why he'd given himself in service to such a monster.

At least, that's what she told herself.

He ignored her and kept singing, "_From centuries she fought descent to a place you can't come back/From noble birth in truth and grace she fell into the black_."

Mell'marie dumped another bucket of water over the sitting figure's head. It froze before it hit the ground, just as the previous buckets had. The effect of shutting him up was achieved however and both women sat back satisfied. "Your songs are depressing. Sing something cheery or keep your peace."

The priestess had gained quite a bit of her strength back with a good night's rest. The shackles were back, binding her catch to a tree behind the crypt. Fourteen armed paladins stood read to skewer the thing as soon as it made a move to break free. Oddly the Scourged Kaldorei made nary a fuss about being moved except the persistent refusal to walk. When asked why he said it felt too much like defeat. Clearly a rescue attempt wasn't happening but that didn't mean he still couldn't escape on his own. After another nap. Or breakfast. And always as soon as they turned their backs.

Two large cauldrons hung from tripods over open fires. Each held water heating to a boil. This morning – if ever such a dreary light as what filtered through the sallow clouds overhead could be called "daylight" - the Death Knight was getting a bath. The slope of the hill would take the waste out of the compound. No doubt when Rayne got to work with the scrub brushes -which would all need to be burned latter - a fair amount of plague was going to pour off the armor. The priestess would manipulate the chains in order to facilitate the process.

Mell'marie studied the scowling face while trying to pick out features under the layers of frozen muck. "You'll get exhausted from freezing the water eventually. I have all day."

He smiled inside the frozen crystalline helmet. The pointed canines of his race had been carved into serrated hooks. He hourly complained about their hospitality in not feeding their "guest", but staunchly refused to even acknowledge what happened in the crypts the day before. Whenever the subject returned to Ms Caroline and her company the Death Knight fell silent, turned inward and brooded. Eventually he would start singing and not stop until some other something caught his attention. Eventually the subject always returned to Ms. Caroline; the cycle had been going all morning.

It was Mell who realized first that the blue-eyed prisoner though or knew something was wrong about what happened. It was wrong beyond an accident or a lack of expertise on his part. "He's afraid," she had told Rayne before they laid down for bed sometime between sunset and sunrise. The Druidess offered to share her lodging since they both shared the same semi-nocturnal sleep schedule which was adapted by all Kaldorie who lived amongst the sun-hugging races. Sleeping halfway through the daylight was the best the nocturnals could offer their compatriots.

Rayne was skeptical, "Afraid of what? Ms. Caroline's no threat to him. Neither are the others."

"I don't know. He doesn't want us making him think about it. Singing is his defense mechanism. Do you notice he only does it when someone is making him think about himself?"

"So... he sings to comfort himself?" Rayne's annoyed quip made the priestess sigh heavily. "I don't think it's working."

"Once we get him clean we can do a formal interrogation. I bet he has one fel of an interesting story to tell."

Rayne was quiet for a very long moment. Finally she said softly, "Don't we all? What are we doing so far away from home, all of the little lost children of Kalimdor?" Mell'marie was warmed to understand that Rayne included her as one of those children.

After that they fixed their charms to the ceiling, one for dreamless sleep at night and one for sleepless dreams during the day. Rayne wanted rest without a journey into the Emerald Dream but Mell'marie had made her charm to call visions in her waking hours which might help discover the truth of the scourge prisoner being held in the crypts.

The next morning proved interesting. Ms. Caroline was seated in the chair across the way which had been occupied by the priestess the day before. She and her company had been given plaguebat leather clothing until something more suitable could be made. Resources were scarce and the undead were the only ones willing to wear garb made from tainted animals. To her left sat one of her underlings, a man named Madrias Corelli. They were both studying the one who had raised them, the shock of what had transpired just beginning to fade from their wide-eyed stare. Both of their eyes were beginning to take on the ghost light's common of the undead. Ms. Caroline had her picture taken before it happen, as documentation she said. She was set on documenting the entire process from freshly raised to the moment she used the last bit of her sanity to walk into the flames.

"Have you been here all night?" Mell'marie asked the woman while summoned the chains to bind the sleeping death knight, giving him quite a rude awakening. His stomach beat his mouth in the complaint department when one complain, two curses and a treats latter had the priestess threatening to bind his jaw shut once more if he didn't do it himself. He went back to singing, but this time under his breath as he glowered. Someone was not a morning person.

Ms. Caroline answered briefly, "I tried asking him questions but he won't acknowledge us. Like we don't exist." Madrias nodded agreement. "He sang a song about a the Lich King growing human children like fruit on a farm in Northrend. I had to leave when he go to the part about _harvesting the fruit_." It was clear she didn't want to think such a thing were possible but her current state of undead attested to the truth.

Mell'marie put her hand over the older woman's and felt the chill of the room in her flesh,"I can make him answer your questions."

"Don't bother. I think there is some truth to the lyrics, even if they are badly contrived. He sang songs about killing druids, woman that can't fly and all his failed suicide attempts. Even if he answered my questions I don't think I want to hear the answers anymore." She watched the priestess drag the bound warrior outside. The lack of struggle disturbed her. "He make a mistake with us, didn't he? We should be mindless and obedient. We weren't suppose to be free-willed."

"I figured that much out," Mell'marie responded, "but I don't know what went wrong. Whether he does remains to be seen. Once he's had a bath and more people can stand to be around him then we'll do an interrogation. Afterward I'm off to Tirisfal Glades and I don't care what Lord Raymond does with him."

Madrias was very young for a soldier, no doubt having been pressed into battle out of necessity and not out of choice. He spoke softly, "He's very much in live with the idea of serving that monster. I don't understand how anyone could be so willing to do it." He followed Ms Caroline and the priestess out.

"He's not free-willed. No Scourge minion is," Ms. Caroline seemed to know something about this so Mell'marie perked up and listened, "Their will is chained to the Lich King; they want what he wants and they get no choice in the matter. They're victims of circumstances same as you and I. We were lucky enough to dodge whatever binds the undead to that atrocity, but he wasn't. They can think independently but they can't _want_ independently. Fell sorry for him but don't hate him. No one chooses to _become_ Scourge and no one who is Scourge can be anything _but_ Scourge."

Rayne met them at the tree. Lord Raymond waited at the ready with a host of guards in tow. When the prisoner was hung and strung between the lowest hanging branches they all stood back. He stared into the distance, a thoughtful expression on his face but a sheer determination not to get washed. "_She traveled north to Acherus to face the King they dread/Where all the hose of undead served the helm upon His head_."

Lord Raymond shuttered to hear the haunting lyrics sung by that metalic voice. He opted to change the subject, "You're not even going to fight us? No fun."

The undead soldier smiled then. "You'll get all the fight you can stand when I hand you over to my mistress. Or maybe just pieces of you. At this point I'm reconsidering taking any of you back alive. Much as she'll love the gift I'm sure a present of your untainted flesh in a casserole will be just as welcome." A deep in-hail confirmed his quarry, "Basil and brie and a glass of rotgut would be perfect." His stomach growled but before he could make another jab at their deplorable hospitality the gold chain shut his mouth again.

The logs and fires and cauldrons of water were set up and all the while he sang, "_Through the night she bargained with the one who'd end it all/Who sent her heart into the wild and laid waste to Andorhal._"

If they though he wasn't going to fight they were slightly mistaken. His energy went instead to freezing the water which they dumped over his head. Several buckets froze and had to be hacked away. No matter how hot they heated the water – even adding salt to stop it from freezing – it still froze the moment it touched him.

"How the blazes?!" The dwarf was fair tired of hacking away with his hammer at blocks of frozen ice. It had been three hours and over a dozen buckets. "I say we get the armor off and then try the rest! No point in washing-"

"Don't you dare touch my armor!" Even with his jaw frozen shut those words were unmistakable.

"Afraid of catching cold?" Lord Raymond was amused.

"Touch me and you die." The death glare leveled at the man could have stripped flesh from bones. The Death Knight wasn't being passive anymore. His body tensed as the dwarf neared him with his borrowed blacklisting tools and the intent of tearing off the offending armor. How much corrosion was going to need working though was unknown but just in case there was also a blowtorch and welding mask nearby.

"He's going to fight now. This should be fun." Whether or not Rayne was being serious was irreverent. It seemed as if she was right, but Mell'marie was up for the challenge. She wasn't sure but she seemed to think it was the first time he outright threatened to kill anyone. Usually it was comment after comment about making a gift of the entirety of Light's Hope to his mistress... as if he though it were actually possible. If he really had a problem with the armor being removed then she was prepared to hold him still while they pried apart the caked-on armor.

If the smell from the outside was anything to testify to what the inside would smell like then their olfactory senses were in for a ride. One of the paladins had come prepared and passed out clothes pins before they even gathered lumber for the fires. Smart woman.

As the dwarf closed in with a crowbar in one hand and a hammer in the other the death knight began to growl. A deep, guttural growl that resonated in the very air around him. The armor began to vibrate and soon the chain mail was rattling as well.

"Magic," Lord Raymond scoffed and took up a second, larger crow bar. A sheet of dense blue ice made of something stronger than water formed over the death knight, encasing him solidly. Inside the ice the glow of the chains dimmed considerably until they were the barest glowing throbs. Lord Raymond looked at the dwarf at the same time he swung the crowbar down - It bounced off the ice and flew off in another direction.

The frozen warrior was still vibrating, calling frozen magic from the Throne itself it seemed to keep the sheet of unholy ice from being breached. He really didn't want his armor to be touched. Sentimental value?

As if it needed to be said the dwarf bluntly stated, "That's not going to work." The stout man studied the situation for about two seconds before whistling down the hill, "Bring me my blasting powder and a light, boy!" A few seconds latter a leather sack came flying over the heads of one of the encircled paladins and was followed shortly by a flint-n-tender (1) kit. The dwarf caught them up and started towards the tree-bound prisoner once more.

The humming stopped suddenly as the glowing blue eyes focused on the dwarf. The intensity of the look was as if he were the most dangerous thing in the universe and it was crucial to make sure the man didn't get near him with the flint.

Suddenly the ice melted and before the chains could resume their hold a hand of long fingers tipped in claws swiped out grabbed the dwarf. The man gave a battle cry and shoved an elbow into the monster's face. Mell'marie blasted the Holy Light into the chains but it was not in time to save the dwarf from a very nasty bite. The crunching of bones and scream of pain could be heard over the sound of rage emanating from the glowing prisoner. The Light burned him once more, without relent and bright enough to cause them to look away.

The paladins surged forward, beating at the thing with their weapons as Rayne grabbed his head and repeatedly smashed it into the tree. He laughed. He cried out against the assault as several of the weapons found soft spots, but none could penetrate his armor. If not for the druid his head would lay in the mud; they would't risk hitting her and she would't risk them killing him before she had her questions answered.

"Release him! Let him go right now!" Mell'marie had the dwarf by one arm and was trying to yank him away from the mouth that held him by the other. The thin plate, leather and mail of his regular guard uniform were all that stood between him and a dose of the plague. However, seeing as the death knight could mold metal in his mouth it would not last long.

The dwarf was pouring powder everywhere; on himself, the tree, the druid, the priestess, the paladins, Lord Raymond and especially the undead animal that had him in it's teeth. With a wicked gleam in his eye – known so well to those who fought and died in the Plaguelands – he barked, "Let me go and get back."

Immediately the host released and ran for cover. Mell'marie barely had time to call Elune's Grace to shield her before she heard the characteristic sound of the stone-skinned defense mechanism of his race activate and a second latter the world exploded. Something heavy hit her in the back and both went down together.


	18. Chapter 17

~* Author's Notes/Whining *~

I had to upload this document a total of SEVEN times in several different formats to fix various problems. FFN uploader tool has decided to bug out today and add spaces between sentences where there are none and then to remove ALL paragraph spaces. Eventually I had to go back through and change not only the formatting of every single section of the story but also manually add in double line breaks between paragraphs. Apparently FFN needs - much space between each paragraph in order to register a SINGLE line break.

Anyway, whining over. Onward to Light's Hope!

"Her faith lay in shambles, so reap what she had sewn,

And soon she saw the years that past would see the madness grown

The Lich King gave her one reprieve to keep His servant sane;

Back she went to Andorhal to dole out a share of blame."

Lyrics based on "Changling Child" by Heather Dale

~*~ Chapter 17 ~*~

~ Light's Hope Chapel~

Shouts rang out from every corner of the Chapel sanctuary as others came running. The smoke was so thick it took a mage conjuring icy winds to blow it away and even then it would not clear for a full minute. Mell'marie lay sprawled on someone's legs and someone lay sprawled on her. If not for the plate the Paladin's wore they would be fit for the soup the death knight frequently mentioned. It was heavy though, far heavier than she liked and it took several attempts at speaking before the ringing in her ears allowed her to adjust her tone of voice. On the third attempt to request the person laying on top of her please "get off!" she realized they were out cold. Apparently some of the armor had struck her and she went down on top of the priestess.

Lord Raymond, nursing a shoulder which leaked blood from underneath the metal layers, yelled orders to healers and helpers to get the survivors to quarantine. One person lay still in the much, a piece of armice jutting out of their lower back. It had sliced clean through the thin plate he wore and struck the spine. Rayne lay by the paladin's side nursing her own bruises while singing him to sleep so he couldn't awaken to the agony. Mell'marie, once getting freed of her own paladin burden, rushed over to provide what healing she could. Other healers rushed about tending to the wounded and gearing up to hack off any afflicted body parts. Better to lose a hand now than die latter and wake to a worse fate and learning to be a lefty.

Mell'marie and Rayne were both crying. Their own injuries were not so severe, thanks to those who though to provide a human shield between the blast and the more physically vulnerable members of their party. As Rayne sang to keep the man under Mell worked to heal his wounds. The armor were stripped quickly, practice she had in the past working with her team back in Darkshore, and the metal carefully removed. The gush of warm blood brought a relieved sigh from the priestess as it meant the man's hart still beat strongly. It took seconds for herself to tune into her own natural talents and the ebb and flow of the man's lifelines...

The dwarf had to be fished out of the only branch left in the tree. He was very woozie, very naked and very bloody from where his mangled elbow had been shredded by his own armor as the death knight molded it with his teeth into a cutting tool. He kept falling over until eventually one of the sturdier priests picked him up to carry him to the quarantine building. His good hand still held the flint he used to light it all up.

The death knight was slumped against the tree and out cold. The golden chains which held him were broken and lay scattered around. People ran past and smoke billowed up from burnt branches but he lay there like a baby in a crib, peaceful almost, except for the scorch marks on his broken armor. How he still had a head or hands after that blast would be interesting to find out. Even his hair was fine except for the few scorched sections.

A few minutes latter Mell'marie and Rayne both stood over him starting down at the sleeping figure. They looked at each other, determination and anger passing between the women and directed at the man at their feet. They were done being nice. They tried it and it didn't work.

Mell recalled the links of the broken chains and they winked out. A few seconds latter spikes formed out of the ground with chains running between them. They traveled upwards and looped around the prisoner, dragging his body to his feet even though he was unconscious. Mel and Rayne both found crowbars and went to work on the armor. First the shoulder pieces, and then the chest. It wasn't hard with newly formed cracks and broken bits of hinges. Raynes claws also served to sever the leather ties that held some in place. They were old and rotted and it was amazing they had held up this long.

In a few moments they realized the entire enclave had come to watch the event. The hauberk gave way easily since the belt had been blown clear in the blast. The arm armor slid off easily and the leg plates cracked open like lobster shells. The muck and grunge which discolored the plate had leaked into the under-layers over the years. The mail was rusted in quite a few places and only required some wire snipers to remove. It was down to the layer of padding and leather which lay against the skin and protected the body from the weight of the armor when the Death Knight shook himself awake.

Seeing his state of undress drove him into a frenzied rage. The chains didn't catch his mouth fast enough to stop the blast of ice from hitting the Priestess in the chest and throwing her backward. Chains of ice wrapped around her entire body and constricted enough to make her wheeze for breath.

He screamed. He thrashed. He caught the golden spikes in his hands and shook the shackles of his cage with a fury which only an unfeeling, unholy abomination could muster. Shrieking in a pitch to make the dogs whine he summoned strength which lay unused before and blighted the ground under him instantly. This sent the druid scurrying back several yards. The roaring glare he leveled at her caught her breath at the same time it stilled her movement. From the distance they locked eyes and something very Kaldorei passed between the two of them. A deep violation was taking place here and even though he was undead it still wasn't ok to do what they were doing. That is what his look told.

The chains of ice didn't last as long as they would have had they been on someone who carried less of Elune's blessings then Mell'marie. It took several seconds but eventually she forced a break in the chains and air into her lungs. A shield of Light which expanded out from the center of her being and pushed the the chains from her body freed her as Rayne and the aniimalistic death knight had a stare down.

Mell pulled two feathers from her pockets and cast levitation spells on herself and the Druid. Lord Raymond openly stared as both determined women approached the chained warrior once more. He rattled the cage, shaking it hard enough to tear rivets into the ground. Mel had to stop a second to pour more energy into the spikes.

Rayne whipped her own belt off and wrapped it around one of her hands. What she planned to do with it was unknown but whatever it was she planned to be prepared. "Is it me or was he not this strong when he first got here?"

A shiver of fear slid down Mell'marie's spine as she felt his power expanding outward at her chains as she had in his. Hers were mad to last longer whereast his were only made to hold someone still for a short time. "He wanted me alive when he first got here. I doubt that's the case now. He'll fight with everything in him now."

"What changed?"

"The armor. Something about the armor. He didn't want it removed."

Rayne's mind went inward for a moment as she though. They floated forward and tested the blighted ground. It wasn't infected enough to hurt someone floating over it but it would only be seconds before the crazed warrior poured more plague into it and fixed that. A few seconds latter Rayne came out of her revery.

"We need to get the rest of the armor off. It's going to go to fel in a handbasket but I think I know what he's trying to hide."

The little human priesess looked up at the tall Kaldorie woman and knodded, "Yes, I have a feeling we're going to find something nasty under there. I can't imagine whatever made him a death knight was a lovely process and I doubt I'd want to be reminded of it if I were in the same position."

Lord Raymond, back from his turn with the healers and previously silent finally spoke up again, "You think he's been tortured and the armor it to hide the scars?"

"Something like that." Rayne floated forward. "Maybe a tattoo indicating guild membership or maybe those arn't his real arms and the stitches are hidden by the armor." Once again even a put-together corpse with a Kaldorei head on it was more likely to Rayne than one of her kind willingly serving the Scourge.  
>The death knight poured more plague into the ground and a few seconds latter the Druid was picking up her feet to get away from the bite of infected earth. Being a druid she not only felt the imbalance but the pain of the ground and the tree as they cried out against the wrongness of it.<p>

He lunged for her, breaking through several of the chains. As Rayne dodged Mel had to stop and pour more energy into holding the rest in place. A deep breath latter she realized that Rayne was on her own. If her concentration faltered then he'd get through and whatever inner strength he was pulling from to avoid being disrobed was going to win. He was actually a lot stronger than he first let on.  
>Rayne leaped out of the enchantment she floated on and landed on the chains which supported the prisoner. A steely determination had taken over the druid. Her bare feet held the chains almost primate-like and allowed her to climb to the top effortlessly. She was a druid after all and nothing delicate lied in the heart of the a woman who didn't bother to change forms in order to evoke a wild animal. Swiftly she dodged several snatches and even laughed as he growled at her in anger and annoyance. She scuttling around the outside of his cage like a spider until she faked left and then drove her arms through the bars of the cage has he dove for where she would have been. Grabbing the tattered leather of his nasty shirt she rent it to shreds with her claws.<p>

He bellowed, turned sharply and caught one of her wrists. Before he could drag it to his mouth a foot caught him in the chest hard enough to finish breaking him through the chains. He landed hard in the mud, but swiftly stood, bare to the waist and growling open mouthed at the priestess. He was about to dive at her but Rayne landed on his back with her belt between her hands and pulled it between his teeth.

He reached around to claw her legs to pieces but the belt was tied and the druid leapt off and landed beside Mell'marie the same instant the man flipped over to launch himself after her. His feet refused to move and he fell hard on his knees. Clawing at the golden chains shackeling him to the ground rewarded him with also having his wrists shackled as well. The golden cage winked out. The shackles drug him to the ground in a kneeling position. From down there he couldn't hurt anyone.

Rayne gasped, covered her mouth with her hands and stared. "Oh, my Elune, no..." Mell'marie stopped, confused. She looked back and forth from the druid to the death knight following her gaze.

Then she saw it, marks barely visible under the body grease, dried blood, sweat and organic matter. Seeing that Rayne saw the marks drove the undead warrior into such a frenzy it took the Priestess lashing him flat to the ground to get him to stop launching himself at her and shrieking in uncontrolled furry. Every shriek accompanied one of the druid's sobs and she watched the man thrash and fight to break free, to kill her, to kill everyone around him who suddenly understood. His own sobs matched the druid's when the agony of being held down by that much pure light finally broke through the red haze of battle rage. The smoke from his flesh touching the chains smelled of burnt meat and rotting carrion.

"I've never seen something dead act so animal before. What's wrong with it?" Lord Raymond and the paladins were ready this time. If it broke so much as a single link in the chain they were going to put it down for good, not permissions asked.

"L-look at his shoulders-" Druids cry for two reasons: something is worth saving or something is not. Mell'marie studied his shoulders and picked out the edges of the marks. Mell'marie stared. Lord Raymond stared. Those who understood what they were seeing stared. Suddenly they understood Rayne's tears.

"Oh, my Elune," Rayne repeated, trying to edge closer and touch him gently. He snapped at her hand from the ground, thrashing still and whining like a trapped animal. "What has brought you to this fate, Guardian? What made you into this thing?"

On his left shoulder the sharp-edged tattoo of the upturned moon marked him as a Druid of the Wild. On the other shoulder the mark of the bear claw indicated a Guardian, the highest ranking members of the faction which took all of Rayne's kind away from home.

This vile, undead Scourge abomination had once been an Archdruid of the Cenarion Circle.


	19. Chapter 18

~* Author's Notes *~

Today I'm abusing the _italics_ key.

"Looking at my own reflection

When suddenly it changes

Violently it changes

There is no turning back now

You've woken up the demon in me."

~ Disturbed, _Down with the Sickness_

~*~Chapter 18 ~*~

~ Light's Hope Chapel~

The death knight slept again. Back into the crypts they had dragged him after his bath, with him fighting furry and iron every inch of the way. The priestess' power was spent; the soldiers had to use the force of their combined might to wrestle it into the opening and throw it down the steps. On the first landing a man had been bitten several times and one the second a woman punched him hard enough in the face and loosen one of his teeth. The plague healed the injury almost immediately, saving the death knight from a undead lifetime's worth of bad gap-toothed snarls.

Rayne sat just feet away watching him sleep. In one hand she held a small metal vase of holy water and in the other a biscuit. Her head rested against the wall. Clearly she didn't know if she needed to scourge the thing or feed it; her emotions went back and forth so swiftly that she bought both just in case. Mell'marie sat in the one good chair left in the room. Both women were in deep, introspective thought. Mell'marie's mind went back over the events, and back over them, and over them again.

"He couldn't have chosen this," Rayne had insisted when everyone recovered from their stupor at realizing what their prisoner used to be. "We aren't like that. Our order is about protecting nature and restoring the balance... not _this_." Her pupils were dilated to the size of coins, skin pale and brows furrowing.  
>Mell'marie was quiet, studying the snarling man. Her mind landed on another Druid she knew so well: her heart from Ashenvale. She was in Tirisfall Glades right now going through Elune knows what at the hands of the Horde and now infected with the plague of undead on top of that. A Druid infected with the plague..? Would her Kayas eventually become like this? Elune forbid it! She had to get to her soul-sister before anyone else had a chance to make her into something she was not meant to be.<p>

"Get the scrub brushes ready again. We're going to make him remember what he used to be. Then we can proceed."

Lord Raymond, as quiet as everyone else around, shook himself out of his own stupor. It was not uncommon to see former paladins, warriors, rogues of every variety and scouts amongst the Scourge's most formidable elite. But a druid...? Before today he would not have though it possible.

The cauldrons of bubbling water had survived the blast, but a layer of debris had to be slotted off the top. Rayne stormed over and picked up her favorite scrubber – the one she used for her riding cat before the Scarlets captured it some years before – and turned to Mell'marie. She held the brush like a weapon as she declared, "I want to meet the thing that is capable of doing this to one of my own. I want to look it in the face and-"

His voice was harsh from racking his throat so hard but over the silence she heard the death knight speak, "She'd eat you alive, little druid. If you see her, run. Because she'll rip out your soul make you watch while she butchers everything you are." He laughed in delight at the though of it, the first smile he had broke since the day before.

Without looking Rayne asked, "Is this friendly advice? I can't imagine a monster so black that-"

"Watch how you speak about my mistress. You'll wind up in her casserole instead of by her side."

"I'll turn your mistress inside out and smear her carcass across the ramparts for what she did to you! One of my own! A brother of my ilk, kith of my kin-"

Now he openly laughed, "I'll pay good gold to see the day that happens. She has but to cast a thought in your direction and your brain will boil out your thoughts running through his mind now entertained him to the point he didn't notice Rayne give Mell'marie the "go" look. The chains tightened suddenly enough to make air wheeze out of his undead lungs as Rayne descended on him and began furiously scrubbing the exposed bits of flesh. She started with the tattoos on his arms, of course, scrubbing till they gleamed.

He snarled and snapped and twisted inside the chains but it was no good. The Light of the links sizzled against his bare flesh, leaving behind welts of blue. One of the paladins who got drafted into helping came over shortly and threw a bucket of water over both druid and captive. Rayne didn't mind but the death knight snarled in irritation, froze the water and then unfroze it when he realized the druid became stuck to him in the process.

"Get off me!" He bellowed, unwilling to have the wet druid frozen to him. She ignored the order and her shivering hands and kept scrubbing. The filthy water which sloshed to the ground ran in rivers of green and brown and blue; sources of the colors were indistinguishable at this point.

"You were one of mine," Rayne insisted, "I'll not stop till you look like something civilized again!" Another bucket of water and one arm was almost clean. The balled fists would not open so there was no cleaning the hands.

"Watch it, Rayne," Lord Raymond said, "He's covered in plague no doubt. Just one drop is all it takes."  
>Grateful for the support the Druidess glanced up at her commander, luminous eyes smiling at him a moment before kicking her victim in the ribs several times to get his other arm out of the protective folds of his body. Kindred, maybe, but still an enemy.<p>

"Get off of me!" Each word was punctuated with a thrash, a lunge and an attempt to bite. The chains bulged and strained, but held. The Priestesses abilities to hold the Light of Elune into links was being put to the test.

Rayne took another bucket from a waiting line of them and sloshed it squarely into his face, pushing the hair back away from the hardened contours and sending water up his nose. He coughed, sputtered and eventually spit out a loogie on the ground. It formed itself into a little plague grub and attempted to crawl away. The elderly Father called Holy fire from the heavens and blasted it into nothingness. The Death Knight glared at the man but didn't otherwise respond to the destruction of his pet.  
>"Afraid of being clean? Whatever for?" Mell'marie had taken a seat on the ground, all the better to control the chains and not tire herself with standing in the process.<br>"Vile wench!" He was not happy as the second arm came back scrubbed clean of caked on grim from armpit to the back of the hand. Scars of past battles, fought while the warrior was both living and undead, revealed themselves under the decayed fluids of his victims. "Tawdry trollop!"

Rayne slapped him. Once, twice... three times before pulling her hand back and rubbing at the stinging, bruised skin. Mell'marie knew that amongst the Kaldorie this was an ultimate show of putting a man in his place. Firstly women were revered as being a personification of Elune and secondly a man who gets slapped in public would carry the stigma with him for the rest of his life.

The druid was about to go back to scrubbing when Lord Raymond and Commie Nick both set to work beating the man for his insults. "And you're a virgin fresh from the womb, are you?" Lord Raymond mocked. "Didn't think so! Keep your opinions to yourself unless you want real men to geld you for daring to shame anyone for how they use their body!"

The death knight laughed between uppercuts to the sternum and mail-coated fists to the jaw. That jaw was still dark purple from how many times it had already been hit by those same fists. Can the undead bruise? "It is hilarious really, this idea you have that I was _insulting_ the thing."

Mell'marie cocked her head curiously but two seconds latter realized the death knight was not insulting the druid.. he was expounding her. "What?"

"He's confused." Rayne's explanation was brisk, if incomplete, and soon she was back to dumping buckets and scrubbing, never getting far enough away for him to freeze the water without getting stuck to him. Obviously he detested being this close to anything living – or maybe it was just that he detested anything "druid". This would make sense as Scourge often attempt to destroy anything that reminds them of their former selves.

Now there was soap in the buckets. Someone had donated a bar of cleaning agent, a very rare commodity in the Plaguelands (1). Flakes of it was being hacked off and added to the kettles even as water was dipped out and added in.

Cleaning the death knight had become a community affair. Even the children were helping to fetch water, taking bets on how long before Rayne got too close and lost a hand to the plague. Commie Nick silenced these bets with glares, taking a mental list of names for punishment should their ill-timed fun-making cause harm to their Druid. Of all the people at Light's Hope, she alone was the only one which could not be replaced.

A third time the death knight demanded Rayne get off of him and a second time he got feet to the ribs. This was not going well for him. The winds blowing through Light's Hope touched his light purple flesh for the first time in over a decade. The tattoos of his former failings showing boldly for all to see. The shame of that thing he had once been bore up inside him, wracking his body with a passionate impetuousness. The haze from his eyes grew colder and colder till it was falling down his face in chilling waves. More than once the Druid's bare hand lingered too long on his skin and was sharply drawn back from the blistering cold.

In the end it made no difference. The unwillingness of a death knight could not match the fervor of Rayne's devotion to her kin. Every part of him came clean, down to the bits of him that were exposed when she deftly tore off the ragged leather leggings. Even his clenched hands were unclurled with sheer force along and the palms scrubbed clean. He giggled and growled at the same time, drawing a snide smile from the druid. Apparently his palms were ticklish.

He taunted her then, "See something you like?"

Her scathing response of, "I see something someone else once liked." shut him up instantly. The bite marks on his inner thighs bespoke a Kaldorei custom of females marking what belongs to them. Sometime in his life he had found love and somewhere between Moonglade and the Plaguelands he lost it. The same was just about true of everyone else who found their way to Light's Hope. Mell'marie and Rayne had both been brought to the Plaguelands for the loss of someone they loved. What was great enough to bring a Guardian to this forsaken wasteland? Time would tell.

He turned inward then, the fight leaving him suddenly. The Druidess was knocked completely free with his suddenly collapse into the chains. Blue illumination blinked out as his eyes closed. The songs came to him again as Rayne continued to rain down hot, soapy water and the scrubbing brushes. _"Flee from here, sweet child/To be feral and be wild./Please don't misunderstand/For they would all destroy you who walk upon this land." (2)_ He went on singing about the feral children of Quel'thalas for a good several minutes as Rayne finished her activities. The smallest token resistance came and went quickly when it was time to scrub his face. Even that was over soon.

The death knight was worn out. Between Mell'marie and Rayne he was outnumbered and as long as the Priestess had the Light on her side he was pretty much neutered.

Mell'marie didn't realize how heavily she was breathing until they lashed ropes around her captive in perpetration of dragging him back to the cell in the crypts. The young priestess was mentally exhausted and physically tired, weary in such a way that reminded her of long days of tracking and killing demons in Ashenvale. When the undead warrior started to fight again he snapped several of the ropes by biting and clawing at them. Using his teeth and claws seemed reminiscent of a former lifetime spent using them for a different purpose.

He took a a deep breath and tried to spit plague at anyone who got near enough. The last of Mell'marie's Light was used to muzzle him as before, where his mouth couldn't hurt anyone. Someone brought chains then and these were not as easily shredded as old ropes. His resistance was token at best but even token resistance took six of their strongest to wrestle into the opening of the crypt prison and throw down the steps.

On the first landing he broke the Light binding his jaw shut and bit a man several times. The thick plate saved him being infected with the plague, but the armor would bear the bite marks till a blacksmith knocked them out.

On the second landing he tried to bite another person but she knocked his teeth down his throat and that was the end of that. Rayne and Mell'marie stood in wonder as the paladin and death knight locked gazes for a second, nothing standing between them but an understanding of brute strength. The undead soldier looked away first and the paladin shoved him the rest of the way into the crypts.

He was fastened to the back wall once more, yawning like a kitten, and promptly fell asleep. The collar was replaced, being thick enough to stop his mouth from opening enough to spit anything but insults at people. Soft snoring indicated how much he cared about their attempts to make him less dangerous.  
>Mell'marie took her leave afterward. Rayne found her a short while latter passed out in her lodgings, recovering from the ordeal. The druid left her some cold beef, biscuits and cheese for when she awoke again. A lot of the human priesthood forgo meat in their diets but Kaldorei <em>are<em> nature and couldn't conceive of dishonoring their place in it by pretending they were not omnivorous.

When the priestess did wake again it was to find Rayne sitting in the crypts starting at the sleeping death knight. She had a biscuit in one hand and a small vase of holy water in the other.  
>Decisions, decisions...<p>

~ End Notes ~  
>1) Or anywhere as so far there is only one vendor anywhere on Azeroth or Outlands who sells soap..<br>2) The original poem is by William Butler Yeats, entitled "The Stolen Child". It's a poem about faeries taking human children into their world so they don't have to suffer in this world. I find it fits very well into Azeroth, especially any scenario involving the undead. I reworked the original poem for use in "The Cat in the Bag: The Druid Pawn" and then borrowed those lyrics to this work (since this work is a 'spinoff' of that one).


	20. Chapter 19

~ Author's Notes ~

I updated my bio if anyone cares to read it. I don't often read author bios, but some of you may like to know something about the person cooking up this tripe.

The focus of this chapter is weeding out unnecessary details. I like my unnecessary details, (Myself and J.R.R. Martin both agree that the devil is in the details) but others may not care what color Mell'marie's hair is or what scar Rayne has on the back of her hand.

I havn't decided if Mell'marie's name has one L or 2 in it. Please be patient with this unusual dilemma I seem to be having.

_Down cam a blackbird/Sat by the fire_

_Said, "Your future's coming at you like a freight train,_

_And you're walking the wire_."

~ _Down Came a Blackbird_, Lila McCann

~*~ Chapter 19 ~*~

~Light's Hope Chapel~

Mell's footfalls were soft as she approached, accustomed as most Kaldorei were of forgoing shoes altogether, "Going to feed him or scourge him?" she asked the reclining druid gently. Her dress pooled as she took a seat next to the emotion heavy Rayne.  
>For a long while Rayne didn't answer. Finally she said, "There has to be a way to fix it. Something is wrong here. Something is terribly <em>wrong<em>."  
>Gently the priestess put a hand on the druid's arm and inquired, "What brought you to the Plaguelands? Kaldorie don't belong in places like this."<br>Rayne's silver eyes went vacant for a second. Her tall form was folded in on itself, the lovely dress ruined by the sloggy water and organic matter. "I just came to observe at first. The Cenarion Circle sent me as an emissary to see what this plague was about. That was when it first hit Andorhal. I've been here ever since. I can't … I can't..." she struggled to get the words out. A deep break latter, "There isn't an empath in the whole of the Eastern Kingdom who didn't _feel_ it. The fall of Quel'thalas. So much rage turned into so much … blood, and so much endless death. Even today they are still dying."  
>Mell'marie let the woman gather shattered memories, knowing she herself had been in similar, if less traumatic, situations before. She had also chosen to stay. "There's hope. There is always hope."<br>Rayne nodded, assured, even in as she shivered with not wanting to let go of it, that it did exist. "Short of the Druid of Quel'thalas dropping one of those plague eating trees in the middle of Northrend I don't see a short ending to this war. I expect to die here. Old age, if it please me, and not thrashing in my bed fighting the plague like I have seen good soldiers ended. Strong women and men... so strong."  
>Mell'marie scooted closer and leaned into the the warmth of the other woman, offering comfort and a shoulder. She spoke softly to the druid, knowing most true Kaldorei find it a sensitive subject when compared to their cousin races. "They inherited the Kaldorei's self-assuredness, the high elves. They though they were invincible and so do the Kaldorei. Just because they war has not reached <em>our<em> home yet."  
>"You say 'self-assurednes' but I know you are being tactful. You mean 'arrogance'. They inherited our <em>arrogance<em>. We messed with magic first. We let them get addicted to it. We drove them out instead of offering help. We keep them out instead of letting them back in. The other Druids hate magic – wont go within spitting range of a mage to save their life- but I have seen what wonders can come of properly used magic. Our people abused it first. We owe the world our apologies . We owed the Quel'dorie our help when they asked for it. If we had then surely, _surely_ this wouldn't have happened. It could have ended at the Sunwell. Instead..." Softly Rayne reached out and stroked the clean cheeks of the sleeping man in front of her. "I'm coming to see that nothing is immune to this plague and all arrogance has gotten the 'dorie is a prominent spot on the Lich King's mantle. He made a _druid_, a Guardian of the Cenarion Circle, into a champion of the _Scourge,_ and for what?"  
>"Because He could." Both women jumped and quickly go to a safe distance. Though he couldn't open his mouth far to speak his words were clear, "Because of arrogance. Because someone told Him no Kaldorei would ever serve Him in any useful capacity. Because someone laughed in His face and said, 'Lets see You do it.' So He did. And why not me? All the better to demonstrate the Scourge's superiority." The eyes fluttered open and met the druidess' very seriously, "They forsook an actual Goddess for a stupid pool of magic water, which the stupidly let themsleves get addicted to in the first place. What did they expect? If I was writing this book I'd be sued for such a predictable ending."<br>Mell'marie had better things to do than argue logic with an card carrying member of the Scourge. She wanted to find her druid and get them both safely back to Darnassus, ASAP. However, that didn't stop mean it didn't bother her that this Kaldorei was behaving in a very un-Kaldorei fashion. "You were a champion of Cenarion. What happened to you?"  
>"How did I wind up here, you mean?"<br>"Yes! If both you and Rayne are Cenarion then how could she not have known you were in this area? How did you come here?"  
>He laughed, "You think I'm Cenarion? That's funny. We, His chosen, are unmade and made again when we become Death Knights. My mistress stripped out everything that was not useful. If ever I was a <em>Guardian<em> then I do not remember it. Therefor, in Scourge logic, it didn't happen. I am, and have always been, His loyal servant."  
>The priestess scoffed, "Scourge have logic? Next you'll be telling me they play politics as well!"<br>"...she left Silithus to get away from politics..." His words trailed off. The beginning of his sentenced changed from "I" to "she" even as he spoke it. Hints of bad bits of memory were snorted out and floated away. Seconds latter he was happy again.  
>Rayne waited a minute and then asked the priestesses' question again. It was evident he either had no intention of answering it or just forgot in his revery. "How did you get here?"<br>"By boat. Before the docks in Tirisfal Glades were blown."  
>"I mean what <em>brought<em> you here?"  
>"A boat. From Tanaris. It sank but the Dark Lady dredged it up. That's how the Forsaken get ships, you know? And half a dozen undead came up with her, but we never got any back. I think she gave them to the Scarlets to play with. There's a rumor they're in league, but I doubt that seeing how Nathanos is still shooting them full of arrows as close to here as Marren's Stead. That's one my mistress would most dearly love to get her hands on. If she could acquire his secrets for taming animals just imagine what we could accomplish! Attack squirrels that would be able to sneak through the defenses of a fortress like this or worms that carry the plague underground for hundreds of miles."<br>Mell'marie shot Rayne a look. Yes, the druid understood it too. The death knight was rambling. It was not uncommon for the captured Scourge to distract interrogators with pointless stories or random chit-chatting. Mell'marie focused herself on the man, staring him deep into his orb-less eyes and reworded the question once again, _"Why_ are you here?"  
>"I'm going to give you to my mistress as a present. I think she'll be happy. Even if she hates children." Mell'marie who scoffed at his insistence that he would a) escape and b) capture her alive in the process.<br>The druid growled at him and asked one last time, "I don't want to know why you are in this crypt at this very second or what mode of transportation brought you to this kingdom in the first place. I want to know why, at that time when you first traveled here, did you _come_."  
>The head of matted and still somewhat dirty, singed hair tilted back as if to think on it a moment. Rayne settled, not realizing how much she had tensed up. When the head finally came forward his eyes were glazed over. He sang, "<em>Come home, come home, my only, my ownMy heart but a star in your sky / The work of our hands made a beautiful life /You left without saying good-bye._" He fell silent then, a frown on his face as if he didn't understand his own words. Both of the women assumed he knew what he meant when he sang but the look that passed between them told the same wondering: maybe even he didn't understand his songs half the time.  
>Mell'marie inched closer. "You're saying you came home to Tirisfal Glades? Or that your lover died in the Plaguelands and you came to... collect her?." That was about as tactful a way the priestess could think to word a situation where one person may be forced to destroy the reanimated remains of someone they knew. She hoped she never had to see her own friends under such circumstances.<br>His brows furrowed, "I was not born here, human." The ire was hard to miss, "I had a love once but she decided I was the enemy and left me. I don't think I ever saw her again. Isn't' that the same story everyone here tells though? A new mistress acquired me shortly thereafter. She doesn't like me either. I think she tried to throw me off the Hold." His eyes scanned the ceiling as he recalled the events with furrowed brows, "Not sure how I survived that." He laughed, grinned, "Or maybe I didn't and that's how I died. I do enjoy my undeath, though. Anything to stay by her side."  
>A long moment of silence passed while the undead man tried to sort out fragmented and faded memories. After a while he gave up and continued to the priestess, "Is this a formal interrogation? You'll need some instruments of torture and more holy water than you have in that little vial. If you want a riotous good time let me down that vase and cut the chains. I'm mighty entertaining when I'm drunk on holy water. Mograin thinks so at least." He frowned again, remembering something unpleasant, "Mistress just got angry and started ripping out my hair. She never liked my hair."<br>Lord Raymond came through the doorway, pushing aside the heavy layers of Light-infused tapestry, "He's a talker, isn't he?"  
>"He's avoiding answering my questions by telling me stories about him drinking holy water and getting his hair pulled." Mell'marie made room for the Argent lord between she and Rayne.<br>"Last time I got drunk and had my hair pulled it wasn't a story for children. Perhaps you would care to wait outside while I do a formal interrogation. At some point he does pass into our possession, yes?" At that moment the elderly Father and two paladins came through the door carrying several cases which held blacksmithing tools and butchering equipment. The undead didn't bleed out and die so they didn't have to be careful about hacking off limbs to get answers.  
>The undead Kaldorei chuckled, "You think she's old enough to see my goods but not old enough to hear stories about what I do with it?"<br>Lord Raymond just punched the Death Knight in the face again and turned to the holy father, "Put those there please." The two paladins pulled up the table and placed the cases on the floor. The undead prisoner just chuckled under his breath, somehow finding amusement in his imminent torture. He eyed the cases like an old lover, head tilted somewhat to the side, almost fondly.  
>Mel'marie focused her mind on the Death Knights. Never before had she tried to read the thoughts of an undead but right now she was deathly curious to know what he found so loving about the idea of becoming intimate with wood drills and pliars. Neither Rayne nor Lord Raymond noticed at first, nor did the prisoner.<br>The room began to swim. It was a familiar feeling of pressure around the inside of her skull where her mind expanded itself into the skull of another. It wasn't actually her skull, it was theirs. She was moving her consciousness into his body in order to read his thoughts-  
>- a flurry of emotions permeated her senses all at once. Comfort, warmth, familiarity, belonging, loyalty, place, routine, routine, routine... Being tortured was just part of the routine for him. It brought a bone deep sense of comfort in it's familiarity and a sense of place. Usually it was his mistress doling out the punishment for some slight or another, but on occasion it was the Scarlets. He often ran off to try and find something his mistress wanted and had so far failed at returning without the need for a rescue party. It was routine, comforting... a mark of his loyalty to Her-<br>"Stop that!" Someone was trying to haul her away from the undead man the same time he was trying to claw his way to her. Somehow a foot found it's way into his hand and he was not letting go. About the time she started screaming in protest that they were going to rip her leg off trying to get her away from him she also realize he wasn't doing anything to the foot but holding on.  
>"Stop! Stop! Just <em>stop!<em>" About the third time she yelled it the paladins and Lord Raymond realized she meant for them to stop. They did, still as nervous hens watching her tiny foot in that oversized, scarred hand. "Let go." Again it took them a moment to realize she didn't mean the death knight. A wide-eyed and nervous glance at the timorous druid received a wide-eyed and nervous glance in response. Finally Lord Raymond released the priestess. The Fathered fallowed. The paladins did so as well, one at a time. The last to release her did so slowly, as if any second the monster would snatch her back and that would be the end of one more bright flame in a wood full of similar monsters.  
>Finally she stood on her own, so to speak, shoulders and arms and ribs bruised from being hauled about by plate-wearing ruffians. Her eyes had never left the death knights. His face was absolutely passive, waiting. She sat down, fully aware that it would take less time for him to rip into the meat of her ankle than it would for her to use her gifts to force distance between them. A silence hung in the air; a dead, nervous silence. Rayne was shaking with the fear of it, having seen so many of hers turn to Scourge and not enough of them graced with escape. The heavy breathing of the others made their armor to clink softly in that way mail and leather and plate does. Far too many layers for Mell'marie's liking.<br>The Death Knight spoke first, "Who taught you to read minds, little priestess of Elune?"  
>Now Mell'marie's eyes got wide and both hands came up over her mouth slowly. She wouldn't look at Rayne.. would look the kaldorie in the eye and...<br>Her eye flickered over to the druid, met brown eye to silver, and felt a wave of shame.  
>"That's what I though," the death knight's everyday speaking voice was deep and cultured with some accent foreign to Mell'marie. Did the Scourge have a language of their own? And did the ones who learned Common second have an accent of that language? "Naughty priestess. You don't ever read the minds of the dead. Even as I spat water I knew these things."<br>Mell'marie was so caught up on on the phrase "spat water" she neglected to focus on the more important nugget of information. "May I have my foot back?"  
>"No. I'm not done with it yet."<br>"What exactly do you have planned for it?"  
>"It's attached to the rest of you, is it not?"<br>"And...?"  
>He smiled. "And then I escape."<br>For a tense moment they though he meant to do just that. When he merely sat there staring the priestess down she furrowed her brows and gave a tentative tug to her leg. He pulled her three inches closer and that was the last of her struggling. "Tell me," he said, bringing her foot up and flicking the slipper off, "Which magic loving, blasphemous, fel-sucking, friend-of-a-demon taught a little priestess of Elune to read the minds of the undead?"  
>"I-!" She staggered over words and though, accusations and rebuttals. "No one! I taught myself!"<br>"Oh, it's not time to lie just yet. Someone gave you a lesson. Someone who wasn't quite this side of the grave."  
>"She wasn't dead!" The words were out before the priestess could stop them. Her hands went to her mouth and then to her throat, as if feeling a noose laid there begin to tighten. "It was just an old lady who lived in the woods outside Elwyn. She kept cats, for crying out loud. Nothing demonic about her."<br>"And yet...?"  
>"And nothing. She talked to her cats." "Says the priestess with an affinity for Druids." He sniffed her toes, bringing the little ping nubs right up to his mouth and inhaling deeply. "She talked to her cats?"<br>"Yes."  
>"When did you notice her cats were talking back to her?"<br>Mell'marie blanched, shock running from her stomach and going out and up in a sickening wave that slammed her into a proverbial ceiling before dropping her back to the floor.  
>"Oh, silly little priestess of Elune. You knew better but you watched her anyway. You watched what she did and you copied her, didn't you?"<br>Words choked her; thoughts confused her; expression betrayed her.  
>"What was it you said to me?" He couldn't open his mount to get his tongue out but his lips were wet. He rubbed one toe between them as if to give a promise that some day one of her bits would wind up between those teeth and he would enjoy the show she would put on denying what would happen as a result. "Ah, yes, if I may quote you myself: 'I'm no virgin to the shadow arts; wait till you've seen me get after some Naga.' I very much look forward to seeing you get after some Naga. They make excellent practice targets for trainees, though you'll notice the Plaguelands are devoid of them most of the time. They got smart and quit coming ashore here. The murlocs were not so smart. They're the Banshee Queen's problem now, though."<br>"I was just a child! All I did was watch an old lady talk to her cats-"  
>"Pft." The foot was released in an instant as he used the hand to point to the Druid, "Tell her that. Tell her that you didn't keep using black magic even after you figured out what it was. Tell her you don't have a touch of necromantic gift. Tell her you can't read my thoughts. Tell her what you read, if you like."<br>Rayne met her eyes calmly, though the way her breaths came shallowly and her eyebrows jumped bespoke her distress. "You don't, do you?" When Mell'marie didn't asnwer fast enough she wailed, "You betray Elune for necromancy?!"  
>Mell'marie was incensed, "I would never and how dare you accuse me of such a thing! Am I not to use the gifts I have been given?"<br>Rayne shook her head vehemently, "No. Not for this. This crosses a line. The Shadow Sisters are not welcomed here." Before Lord Raymond could correct this untruth Rayne turned and stormed out. Before she was through the door she jerked back around to order the priestess to leave Light's Hope as soon as possible.  
>Mell'marie blinked. Lord Raymond and the paladins stared at the still jiggling door tapestry. After a long moment the Father asked, "What just happened?"<br>The undead elf just smiled serenely and allowed the priestess to answer. "Politics," she said softly, "I just lost _another_ friend to fel-be-damned Kaldorei politics!"  
>The elf's smile vanished when the furious priestess turned on him with both golden hands raised, pointed at his head. "Oh, shi-"<p> <p>


	21. Chapter 20

~* Author's Notes *~

What I'm working on in this chapter: An 'interrogation' scene with lots of (hopefully) plot-driving dialogue.

Exposition kinda got thrown by the wayside.

Sorry bout that.

Loyalty is doing something that goes against your grain,

because if you don't then the whole balance of your universe will be thrown off,

and then who can you trust?

~*~ Chapter 20 ~*~

~ Crypts at Light's Hope Chapel ~

Mell'marie's ribs were even more bruised. Five sets of hands and arms were trying to haul her out of the crypt, all the while her kicking and screaming matched that of the Death Knight in the corner. He pleaded for mercy at the same decibel she damned him to fel. The surges of golden energy lit him up like a gnomish firework; the chains kept him tied to the wall as the violent thrashing gave him matching bruises. The sounds of moist flesh slapping the walls and floor pleased the priestess.

"I'll just burn the Bulworks down!" she screamed, voice horse from efforts to share the rage inside, "I'll just burn it all to fell! What good are you to anyone? I'll just end you here and make my own way to Undercity; I left Stormwind to get away from fel-forsaking politics and here you go ruining perfectly good -"

Face contorted into a purple mask of pain the Death Knight was howling in response – who was making the most noise could be anyone's guess - "What do you want from me? I've never even been outside the Plaguelands since I died. You want me to give you the layout of the Citadel, or something? You expect too much!"

"You'll kill him, stop!" The Father was almost on his knees pleading, "Child, we need to interrogate him properly, not burn his brain to ash for your petty quarrel!"

"I'll give you 'petty quarrel'!" Turning on the father she shot him in the chest with a shadow bolt hard enough to knock him away from her. The next instant the golden shield of light bubbled up from within and all the people on top of her were thrown back. Lord Raymond landed almost in the Death Knight's lap. The undead man scooted away to avoid touching the light-infected Argent leader.

Some things could wait.

Turning on the Death Knight again the priestess contorted her hands and the golden chains brought him to a stand quickly. The undead man didn't resist, eyes wide like he was about to witness his own re-death.

"I think you broke her," one of the paladins hissed at the Death Knight, pushing strands of lose hair out of the way, "Do you have any songs about pissed off priestesses to sing us while we try to calm her down?" The woman took a stand between the priestess and the death knight. This time her words were directed at the girl in front of her, "Maybe he doesn't have the layout of the Citadel, but maybe he does know a backway into Acherus. What then? You fry him and what good is he to us or you or anyone? Rayne will still be angry and so will you, only now you're off to Tirisfal Glades on your own? How far do you think you'll get?"

Leveling her eyes at the paladin the priestess straitened up, "I got this far on my own, didn't I? I've done everything on my own, havn't I? Only one person in this world didn't tell me not to be _my own _and unless he's going to charge into Undercity to help me rescue her I don't see how he's any good to me anymore!"

"It's not about you, is it?" The paladin wanted to slap her and Mell'marie knew that. She didn't care. The moment the woman tried to harm her was the moment the woman became just another enemy and would get put down like all the rest.

"Yes," Mell'marie said, "It is. It's all about me, and me and me and what I want." A shaky breath brought the Death Knight's bound form forward, closer to the paladin's back.

Lord Raymond scrambled out of the way, unsure what to do. They didn't hurt children and he' wasn't naive enough to think that just because she could wield a tiny bit of shadow energy meant she was the enemy. Just mightily entitled and mightily pissed off.

The Father made it to his feet and coughed, "Then what? No one gets to interrogate him? He has information we need!"

Mell'marie looked over at the Father and said, "When did 'it' become 'he' to the lot of you? Suddenly you're on _his_ side, now?"

"Someone needs to be, " the death knight mumbled under his breath, "Since my rescue party apparently decided to detour threw the Altaracs to get here."

"That doesn't even make sense!" Mell'marie yelled at him, shoving the paladin out of the way. Surprisingly, plate wearing folk move easily when your hands are infused with holy fire and they'd rather not get cooked like birds in a can. "You don't ever make any sense! Even if they got the truth out of you it would come out sounding like 'She sat on a bank to fry peas in a bathtub, for that was how the Lich King likes his dog walked.' You just talk gibberish and sing gibberish and you're useless! Why do they even keep you?"

Something came over the Death Knight. For two moments the anger bubbled up and for a few seconds it came spewing out, "Just because you can't understand me doesn't mean I don't make sense. You're just terrible at listening because all you care about is you!" He looked her deep in the eyes, "The world did not stop turning because another druid strayed too far from home and bit the dust. Let it go and move on."

It was the priestesses turn to turn kaldorei purple. The blood rushed to her face in embarrassment and then down into the gut. "How dare you! You arrogant, undead, fel-sucking freak of nature! You-_you_- presume to tell me that I need to move on? My sister was taken from Ashenvale by Horde skum and that is not something I can just 'move on' from. It is no little quest I am on; this is the most important thing I will ever do in my life-"

"You can say that because you're so young. Until real war happens to you then you are still a child and don't you dare to presume that I don't understand how gut-retching it is to loose someone who is _standing right there_." The way he ground his teeth together made Mell'marie wonder what he wasn't saying.

Quiet. Lord Raymond spoke finally, "I've interrogated Scourge before; none of you monsters has any sense of remorse or guilt or anguish. You're showing emotions. What's different about you?"

The Death Knight was silent, unwilling to share or unable to speak the real truth. A second latter he quietly admitted, "She never liked my hair. She's furious with me. I messed up." There was almost a plea in his metallic voice, though Lord Raymond presumed it was his imagination.

"In a sharing mood now, I see," the female paladin said.

The undead elf smiled, cracked a halfhearted joke about sharing the plague with her if she wanted. Afterward he began starting at the floor, quiet.

The Father came forward but not close enough to get near the still angry priestess. "Which wars?" he asked.

"No. She uses the memories to punish me when I disappoint her. I sing some song she doesn't like or I lost a bet and let Koltira brush my hair once... I hid for days before she found me, ripped all the memories out again and let me come crawling back to her side. I can't remember what I did wrong to begin with. She took my song as well." A low, sad sound slipped out, like an animal caught in a trap after all the rest of it's herd were forced to leave it behind.

Mell'marie laughed bitterly, "Awe, you poor, sad, lonely cuddly ball of death. How utterly devastating it must be to be you; immortal, unfeeling, unnaturally strong and so sure that what you're doing is utterly correct in every way. Let me just get another hanky for these crocolisk tears I'm about to start crying on your behalf."

"You know, I didn't make fun of you when you were sharing."

"Yes, you did, you called me spoiled and selfish"

"You are spoiled and selfish, but I didn't make _fun_ of you."

She grunted, anger giving way to frustration. This argument could go on all day. "They aren't coming for you, you know? It's been too long. Death Knight rescue parties usually arrive that day, if not sooner. They'd have come and got you from me before I ever made it here if they wanted you back. They aren't coming."

"That's just mean of you to say."

"I'll just get two hankies then, one for me and one for you as well."

A slight smile quirked in the corner of his mouth, "She'll come for me. She always does. No escape from that deal."

"Since you are in such a sharing mood," one of the male paladins was tired of hearing the priestess and death knight argue, "why don't you give these nice people the layout of Acherus?"

The annoyed kaldorei looked at the conversation-interloper and glared, "If you feel like making your way into the service of the Lich King, use the teleportation device located right under Acherus in the training grounds. We don't stop people from teleporting into the hold. Just understand Mograin and my mistress will be waiting for you when you get up there."

Lord Raymond swallowed hard, "They just let living people use the teleportation device?"

"Why would we stop them? It's far easier to let the living come into the arms of death than it is to go hunt them down and bring them back."

"This... occurs regularly?"

"Hourly."

One of the paladins left the room. The death knight smiled after him, regaining some of he joviality.

"What do you think is going to come from all of this?" The priestess was shaking her head as if to deny to herself the truth of those words. Some people truly believe in joining sides with the forces you can't beat. She didn't comprehend.

"I think we're going to kill every living thing on the face of this planet and then my King will truly be _the_ King."

"For what?"

"I'll let you ask Him yourself when we get back to Achrus, little hen." He smiled as her eyes widened at the nick name.

"He won't win."

"He's not your problem yet, is He, Kaldorei? You're just going to get your friend and go back to Ashenvale and pretend we won't make our way to your doorstep some day. The Quel'dorie though the same thing, too. Ask Koltira Deathweaver how that worked out for them."

"Why do you serve him? What has he done for you?"

"He made me." That seemed to be enough for him but not for the rest.

"Made you what? A champion? What have you accomplished since coming into his service? What great dead? What name have you made for yourself?"

"I'm Thanis Deadsong, nice to meet you. Or meat you, depending on if my mistress likes you or not. I think she will, even if she pretends she won't." Glancing at the door, towards the Hold which held said mistress he seemed to be trying to hear her approach.

Lord Raymond snorted, "Back to being evasive, I see. And here I felt we weren't going to need these." Turning towards the table of tools he picked up a nice wide pare of heavy-duty hoof trimmers. Turning back to the Death Knight he approached, snapping the tool open and closed a few times.

"I did answer your question."

"I asked you more than just your name. What kind of name is 'Thanis' anyway?" The priestess put a hand up to stop Lord Raymond, wanting answers to her more important question before she left Lights' Hope and never came back. "Who named you 'Deadsong'?"

The Death Knight sighed, rolling his head back as much as it would go with the collar on and replied, "Thanis is my name Deadsong is my name. Women gave those names to me, like all Kaldorei are named. Go track them down if you want answers to those questions. I believe it's Mr. Raymond's turn, if you don't mind."

Lord Raymond looked hopeful for a second but Mell'marie physically moved in front of him, "No. I want to know what the Lich King has done for you to earn your loyalty. How did you come to be in that monster's service. You're Kaldorei; the most incorruptible race on Azeroth."

Laughter. The death knight was laughing, fully brought into a wonderful mood once again, "That is hilarious! Have you seen the map? That giant hole in the middle? We did that, the Kaldorei. We invited the Burning Legion here – yes invited the Burning Legion to Azeroth. Have you not seen the remains of that invasion in Ashenvale, still going strong ten-thousand years latter? Oh, you are a silly one!"

Her face colored again, barely back to it's natural shade from the last rise he got out of her. "A Druid then, a Guardian; practically Kaldorei royalty! How did he get _you_?"

Almost fondly the death knight looked at her, "A woman." A moment of silence latter he said again, "It's always a woman, isn't it? Leading the way into greatness on paths men are fearful to tread. It was a woman who defeated Azshara; it was a woman who captured Illidan; it was a woman who freed the Forsaken; it was a woman who rescued the survivors of Loarderon and took them to the other continent. Always a woman."

Mell'marie didn't argue with him. Kaldorei were a matriarchal society where women ruled. It was easy to overlook the fact that Azshara herself was a woman and how a woman had failed to stop the heart of Arthas from being turned by the magic of a orc shaman. No, in Mell'marie's mind gender had nothing to do with someone's potential for greatness and less to do with their potential to fail. But try telling a Kaldorei that.

"So she seduced you into his service?" Lord Raymond was determined to salvage this interrogation in any way. Clearly the priestess wasn't ready to relinquish her toy.

"No."

"Threatened you?"

"No."

"Betrayed you?"

"No."

"You came willingly?"

"No."

"What then?!"

"To serve a purpose."

"You came to the Lich King to serve a purpose for a woman?" Now the female paladin was confused.

"Yes."

"What purpose?"

"To protect-" he stopped, as if struck from the inside, eyes widening and teeth clamping shut. He didn't finish that sentence. "I had one job," he said through clenched teeth, "Just one job!"

"And?" All of them were on pins and needles to hear what he had to say.

"And I failed."


	22. Chapter 21

~* Author's Note *~

I cut a chapter which is told from Alonea's PoV.

It happens the same time the last chapter does.

It will probably be added during the rewrite.

I chugged a very strong amber beer before writing this.

Candy and lager and writing mix, right?

"Well you said the grass is greener/On the other side

But from where I stand I cain't see grass at all"

_Better Class of Losers_, Randy Travis

~*~ Chapter 21 ~*~

~ Light's Hope Chapel ~

"You failed at what?" Lord Raymond was ready to either make the priestess leave so he could do his interrogation properly, or ask her to at least let him use his shiny tools to hasten the effects of her questions.

"I failed at killing the lot of you when I got here. I failed at not bringing my runeblade when I left Acherus. I failed at capturing a small child for my mistress. I failed at getting anything to eat out of my captors." He perked up for a second, "I succeeded in getting the Druid to leave, however. There's a plus!"

Mell'marie slapped him.

"Why does everyone keep hitting me? That's not at all polite. Not to mention it obviously isn't achieving the desired results."

"The Scourge would know so much about good etiquette?" Lord Raymond wasn't expecting an answer but got one.

"We are felicitous about manors, actually."

The female paladin pointed a finger at his face, "You didn't answer the question."

"He asked me what I've failed at. I did answer the question. Why does everyone keep accusing me of being evasive?"

Mell'marie scoffed, "You haven't told me how many people you've killed. I asked you that back at the clearing where I cough you."

"I told you I don't remember."

"Before that you lied."

"If I had told you I don't remember right out then would you have believed me?"

He had her there. "No," she admitted.

"So what really happened was you assumed I'd lie to you in the first place so in order to tell you the truth you forced me to lie so you'd accept the truth. How is that my fault that you have trust issues?"

"You're Scourge!"

"And how much do you know about the Scourge? Have you ever talked to one before me? Have you ever sat down and had a nice dinner and said 'How's your day going?' and just listened to what they had to say? No. You haven't. You just listen to what everyone else tells you and assumes you have it all figured out."

"Excuse me? Are you accusing me of being a puppet?"

"Well... yes."

"I was eating lunch when you attacked me actually! Did it ever occur to you to say, 'Hello, Miss. I see you're enjoying a lovely meal of roasted potatoes and strider stew. Have you heard the word of my Master, Arthas? I have this nifty book that details his plan for world domination. I'd like to read you a few passages if you have a moment.' No, you didn't. You came at me screaming like a wild animal and missing half your armor and expected me to do what exactly?"

"How is any of this," Lord Raymond said, "in any way relevant?"

The death knight glared at the argument-interloper and snarled, "How is hoarding all these bodies into one location and then thinking my Master wont find about about it relevant?"

Mell'marie interrupted Lord Raymond, "Which brings me back to my point of why you work for that psychopath. Obviously he doesn't value you or he'd have come for you by now. Obviously you aren't important, serve no purpose or function that even you can define to us. What's the point?"

Furrowing his brows the death knight looked quizzical, "Are you trying to get me to switch sides? Is that where this has all been going?"

"It wouldn't be the first time Scourge decided to follow a different drummer." Mell'marie said, palm up, "You could help them fight him." The death knight was too flabbergasted to speak so she turned to Lord Raymind, "Did it ever occur to you to give him sanctuary in return for information?"

Flabbergasted in turn Lord Raymond just stared at her like she lost her marbles. She turned back to the undead elf, "He's not coming for you and I highly doubt even a master necromancer could get you out of here alone. I'd highly recommend switching sides."

The Father was clucking and shaking his head, "It doesn't work like that. They're tied to his will. They feel what he feels and are incapable of feeling on their own. Nothing you do can change that."

Mell'marie pressed her lips together and waited for the death knight to respond. He said nothing, staring at the floor. "Well?" she prompted. Still he said nothing. "You want me to tell them what I saw inside your head? You know why you raised free-willed undead. Want me to tell them?"

"Stop." he said, "I'm not another Dark Lady, I promise you. Even if I did switch sides I am neither a leader nor a good follower. I have one purpose to only one person. Without my mistress I am, as you say, useless." _ How did I get like this? I was something fierce not too long ago._

Lord Raymond leaned forward, "I'll bet the victory of this war that you know enough to make it worth the effort to pry it out of you."

The elf shook his head, aqua hair flopping back and forth, "Stop playing this game like Arthas follows your petty rules. You require food, lodging, medics, fire and so many, many things we do not. Stop taking so long to react to what is happening to you. Go on the offensive for once. That is how you win this war. Too bad it'll be long after your dead when the women and men around you finally do it."

The Argent commander snorted, "Are you threatening me?"

"Yes. But you miss my point. You fight minions: underdogs cut their teeth on you to rise through the ranks; apprentices use you to further their goals inside the bowels of Acherus; the lowly amongst us become the best amongst us by small victories over you and your pathetic holdings. All you are to the Scourge of the Plaguelands is a mosquito and each time one of you dies we gain a new champion. You. Need. A. Better. Plan."

"I'm not throwing my women and men into the maw of death," Lord Raymond said, emphasizing his serious with the nose of his hoof trimmers, "on the off chance a surprise ambush on Acherus via teleportation device would work."

"I tell you exactly what you want to know and you just tell me it won't work. Fine. Sit here in your hovel and wait for Him to come to you. Don't come whining to me when it all comes crashing down."

Mell'marie sucked at her teeth for a second. "I want to talk to him alone for a minute." She waited for the rest to leave and when no one moved she glared. "Get out, please." No one moved. About the time the death knight started laughing at her lack of authority she raised both eyebrows and reminded them swiftly that the Scourge prisoner still belonged to her and if they wouldn't leave then she would. They still didn't move.

"Have it your way," she said, and started walking to the door. Lord Raymond looked delighted to finally get down to the torture part of his schedule. About the time he reached the death knight with the hoof trimmers was about the time he realize the death knight met him halfway.

His sword was in his hands the same instant the undead elf's grin met him inches away. The priestess finished disolving the golden restraints and walked out. Surely four paladins, the Argent Commander and a holy Father could restrain one weapon and armor-less death knight? Surely!?

Mell'marie was waiting at the opening of the crypt when the stream of living bodies ran past encased in the Father's holy shield. Hard on their heels was a howling happy Scourge minion free of chains and gunning for escape. As soon as Lord Raymond saw her she demanded she reign in her prisoner.

"Oh? My prisoner? I though he was all yours now. I'll have my payment as soon as you're able. And some horses to boot, unless you want to recapture him yourself." Leaning against the wall of the crypt opening the priestess could care less that the naked death knight was running a-muck like a puppy finally off it's leash.

"Cease and desist! Cease and desist!" Who was screaming it the loudest, Commie Nick or Lord Raymond, was anyone's guess. First the death knight ran at some children, then ran away to chase a squirrel up a tree. After realizing he didn't have much aptitude for climbing trees, he severed several ropes attempting to bring him down with bare teeth and headed over to the forge area. After receiving several blows with the head of a hammer from the same blacksmith who blew his armor off earlier that day he ran for cover as soon as he caught sight of the same flint and a new bag of powder.

The horse tied to the cart he hid behind caught the scent of death and tried to run, only with the car still tied to it. Fresh vegetables and bread went flying as several half packed cases went all over the ground. Running between the gryphon posts the horse only succeeded in getting the cart stuck on the stone outcroppings and screaming and thrashing in it's tethers. The gryphons took to the air and began attacking the wagon. One of them was on eggs and not happy at the interruption of his brooding.

The undead man stopped long enough to howl with laughter before eying Rayne in meditation near an unnaturally clear pool of water. Making a bee-line for the relaxed Druid he was rewarded with several angry balls of magic-wrought wrath to the face before running away. Apparently disturbing a druid who is trying to meditate down her anger at finding out her priestess friend practices level 1 necromancy was a bad idea.

Cursing he decided to try another side of the compound. All the while arrows followed him back and forth, landing either left or right to keep him steered away from the civilian area or away from any graves from which he might rise more minions. Not that the minions would be on his side, but the inconvenience of having to explain to people that yes, they had been dead and now were not was just annoying at best.

The priestess trailed after, lazily watching the goings on. Every now and again the death knight would look up and make eye contact, pause for a second, and then proceed when she did nothing to stop his rampage. A following a priests, paladins, warriors and archers were gathered around. Lord Raymond ordered them not to destroy the body at the same time the Father was commanding them to destroy it.

All the while Mell'marie watched and waited. Torn between their physical leader and spiritual leader, it was Commie Nick who made the decision to get chains and lash the thing down once again. Four chains and and five stakes in the ground latter and all they were rewarded with was blighted ground and frozen bits of metal being shot at them from the death knight's mouth. How he still had teeth was anyone's guess.

Eventually the group got the idea to try to herd him toward the gate. He was thrilled with the idea of being allowed to just walk out and went along willingly. The gate was cracked open, but Lord Raymond and a handful of Paladins stood between, preventing his departure. An argument ensued.

At one point a gaggle of curious children made their way out of the civilian area. In a space of about 20 feet the death knight and children met face to face. Stopping, they stared at each other. The eldest was just 8 or 9 and only breathed out the words 'night elf' before Mell'marie shackled the elf and turned him to face her.

"I was leaving!" he started to protest only to find himself starting at the top of her head as she fastened her cloak around his waist.

"No one wants to see your mole machine!" Immediately she turned him back around and released the chains. The Death Knight's fangs about pierced his bottom lip when he smiled at the children and raised his hands. "Perhaps a snack before I go."


	23. Chapter 22

~*~ Author's Notes *~

I realized in this chapter that I forgot to mention how the death knight got out of the chains in the last chapter. While still in the crypt he freezes and breaks the chains after Mell'marie releases the shackles. A certain necromancer does a lot of yelling.

"Would you mind if I hurt you?

Understand that I need to.

Wish that I had other choices,

Then to hurt the one I love."

Within Temptation, _What Have You Done?_ ~*

~ Chapter 22 ~*~

Lord Raymond full body tackled him to the ground. Mell'marie laughed and clapped at the show. Rayne looked disgusted, finally making her presence know to the priestess. If she though it would make the the girl restrain the Scourge soldier once more she was mistaken.

Lord Raymond and the death knight rolled around in the dirt and mud, punching and gouging and spitting insults in each others face when large roots came up out of the ground and wrapped around the death knight's legs. They held for seconds before needing to be reapplies. They snaked between his parts and Lord Raymonds. Eventually the Argent lord found himself being pried way from his undead foe so the roots could finish pinning it to the ground.

"What is the meaning of this?" Rayne demanded of the priestess.

"I'm leaving. I want my payment. He's ya'lls problem now." Mell'marie was unapologetic about the mishaps. No one had been hurt, just some dirty food and one bent wagon, and a squirrel which probably needed therapy.

"You bring him to our safe haven and just unleash him on us?"

What friendship had been building just hours before was gone in an instant. A heated rivalry hung in the air now. "That is not what happened and you know it. Weren't you in the middle of meditating away your judgmental anger problems?"

The Druid's breath caught, "For one who practices dark magic you have every right to correct me on my behavior, of course."

"For someone who is trying to save Ashenvale by getting back the first dire-bear

druid Elune has given us in over one-hundred years, I have every right to-"

The Death Knight chose now to speak, "Does anyone have popcorn? I didn't realize there'ed be a show before my escape."

Rayne turned on the unfortunate death knight, squeezing the air out of his lungs with her roots, "And you, you sorry sack of nightsaber squat: when I get my hands on the Lich King I'll make him sorry he did this to you. Dearly he'll pay for everything he made you do."

The death knight's eyes softened somewhat, as if a fond memory were coming to him, "The Lich King didn't do this to me. But please feel free to introduce yourself to the one who did."

"If not him then who? Just give me a name."

"I did." They turned to see the new voice that broke the atmosphere. A woman dressed in a black dress cut clear down to her navel stood on the palisade wall near the open entrance. None of the guards had seen her appear. "He was broken so I fixed him. Don't you like my work?" On her back was a misshapen lump wrapped in several layers of dark gray-blue fur.

"Who the fel are you," Lord Raymond demanded, "and what are you doing in my compound?!"

"Alonea," Mell'marie breathed, "Her name is Alonea. She's the necromancer who raised that one from the dead."

The necromancer smiled, the pointed canines of her race showing clearly against skin so dark it was almost black, "Not entirely true. He wasn't fully dead before I started turning him. The process was... educational. But," she jumped down and landed inside the fence. Utterly alone she put hands up to stop the paladins from rushing her immediately, "You don't want to know why I'm here?" She sounded entirely too delighted to be alone with the hundreds of anti-Scourge who called the enclave home.

"This is a lousy rescue attempt," Lord Raymond said, "You'll need a lot more people to make it out of here alive, Necromancer." He as well as the rest were dumb founded. She had indeed come for him just like he said. Rayn's hands were over her mouth, head slowly shaking back and forth, ears quivering to see a free-willed Kaldorei turned necromancer. For the Scourge, no less.

"You'll not touch her!" The death knight's voice was strained, spurred on by the arrival if his mistress, "I'll hand you all to my King when this is done."

Rayne was starting to struggle to hold him down. He pushed against the roots and eventually managed to sit up.

The necromancer slowly, gracefully made her way to where Thanis was rooted to the unblighted earth. The circle of paladins, warriors, priests and the like moved along with her, getting out of the way but at the same time filling the void with bodies. She wouldn't make it back out of the hold without going through the lot of them. So far no Scourge had made it out of Light's Hope alone. "This isn't a rescue attempt." Her eyebrows were pointed down into her nose, mouth turned down at the corners, "In fact, it's quite the opposite."

"Mistress?" The death knight rocked his head to the side and swallowed.

Alonea walked between people and strode up to her minion. Placing a hand under his chin she tilted his head up to look her in the face. His adoration shone like stars in his blue eyes. Her own brown eyes gazed back as well, her hand gentle like a lover.

"You owe me an apology, Thanis, but I'll be long gone before you're able to give it to me." Her voice turned bitter, "I'm going to Northrend, you see. And you'll be dead before you ever get the chance to truly understand what you've done."

"Mistress?" The confused death knight looked to follow her when she released his chin slowly and backed away. The roots held him.

Looking up from the confused death knight she eyed Lord Raymond, "I'm going to teach you something, Lord Raymond, and in doing so I'm going to send a message to every Death Knight in the whole of the world about what it means to fail the Lich King, to fail the Scourge."

The Argent lord readied his sword, tip glowing with holy light as he summoned the spirit of battle to him. The necromancer laughed, putting a hand up like someone not wanting to pet the dog that is being shoved in her face. "Do put that away. It wouldn't do anything to me anyway. The teaching is something you will find very, very valuable, I promise you. The lesson is for him, a traitor to the ranks and the ruiner of my legacy."

Shocked the death knight's mouth popped open in protest. She slapped him before a world could come out and immediately he quieted. It was not his place to question her judgment. "I made you," she hissed. Her hands clawed at the air like someone ripping clay off a block and molding it, black stained claws shredding the breeze as she spoke, "I took you, pathetic and weak as you were, weeping and wailing like a child who lost his kitty, and I fixed you. I built you up, I made you strong!" She slapped him again, this time with the back of her hand in the other direction. Her voice was rising, anger and hatred pouring out into the night are, thick and wet, "I turned you ifrom something useless and fragmented, filled in the holes and gave you substance! I made you great and this is how you repay me?!" She gestured to Mell'marie, the purple flush of blood visible in even her dark skin, "Running off with her? What is it with you and priestesses? Can you not get enough of them? I though handing you over to the Scarlets for a bit would get the need out of your blood, but apparently not."

After a second of silence the confused underling realized what his mistress said, "Gave me?"

"Yes, 'gave'. Every move you have made and everything that has ever happened to you has been my doing. You have belonged to me since we left Ahn'qiraj, my star-crossed bear. Yes, even the Scarlet capture was not unplanned." She sighed in frustration at his idiocy of not being able to piece it together without having it spelled out for him. He truly was not the greatest follower. "Ever now and again you get antsy to be off looking for the lost one and need a good torture session. So I let some enemy or another have you for a bit. You scream, you cry, you embarrass me in front of Mograin and then I take you back in and let you sleep at the foot of my bed for a night or two. All in the name of keeping you by my side. But that's over now."

"I can fix it!" He looked tragic, as if he would begin crying. Right then he did not look formidable or scary in the slightest. He looked like a grown child being scolded by Mother in front of the other kids.

"No. There is only so long we may deny our King what He wants and He has wanted me in Northrend for quite some time now. I ship out tomorrow." A look crosses her face somewhere between dread and relief. "It was me or you, star-bear. I chose myself. I told you all those years ago that I would never not pick myself. You chose to believe otherwise, but now you'll see the truth of it."

Now he was crying, gray tears of some unknown substance flowing down his face. He made it to a kneeling position before the exertion caused a moment of submission. "Please, whatever it is I can fix it. I've always been able to fix it!"

"Not this time."

"Please!" He strained against the roots, strained against being held apart from her. Muscles bulged and sweat began to form, the ground under his feet resisting and crumbling. "I'll explain it to Him. I'll tell Him everything. The priestess here, she'll make a fine candidate for the school. Just having her serve Him will be worth all the trouble."

Without looking the necromancer dismissed the offering, "Pft. That child? Get it through your thick skull, Thanis Bearsong: I was not made to sit and rock babes!"

Lord Raymond's sword point was almost to the ground. The horror on his face, of seeing this play out before his eyes turned his gut. Betrayal was not uncommon in the Scourge – encouraged even – but never had he witnessed it in all his years fighting them. The Father and the paladins were equally stunned into silence.

"Then I will do it for you! Did I not say I would do it?"

"No! I am banished to Northrend for your betrayal." She took the bundle from her back and began moving the skins. The pack was thick so this took some time of unwrapping the furs. The first fur fell to the ground. "You had one job, Guardian. Just one job. Can you even remember what you promised me? I didn't take that memory from you."

"I promised that I would always protect you."

Unwind, unwind. The second fur fell to the ground.

Coldly, "And?"

His voice cracked, panic rising, "That I would stay by your side forever."

Unwind, unwind. The third fur fell to the ground.

Colder, "And?"

Unwind, unwind. The fourth fur fell to the ground.

Breath deepening, "That you would pick your enemies and they would be my enemies as well."

"And?"

"To-" his voice fell silent breath. He started at the piece of jewelry she wore, just now noticing it. Everyone just now noticed it. "Oh, my starry night." His choked on the sob, biting back waves of some emotion unknown. Bile rose. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

The last bits of fur were coming undone. A long, lean object a lay underneath. She paused, "If your sorrow was a bronze drake I'd ride it back to Anh'qiraj and slit my own throat." Finally she pulled the object free.

A rune blade.

The Death Knight's whole body jerked in response. Free from the skins the dead blade flashed to life, beautiful blue runes lighting up along both sides of the blade. Dozens of them. Strength, dexterity, healing, command of the blight and the plague, ability to summon the dead, and more. One after another they lit up.

The blade was hungry. It had been quite some time since it had fed. Feeling it's master so near it and all the living, soul-filed bodies near it caused the blade to vibrate. It demanded it's master feed it.

The necromancer held the blade like a poisonous snake, away from her body. In the light of the glow the death knight whimpered in response to the dull ache which rolled to life in the presence of his sword. "Why bring Widower here? Do you want me to kill these people to teach this lesson to these non-believers? I will do it gladly in your name if you but hand her to me!"

The necroamncer's answer was to put a hand to her piece of jewelry. "No," she said, "You had one job, Guardian. What was your one job?"

Widower was hunger: Widower wanted souls. The Druid would do: Druids usually did. Maybe the priestess as well. It is a fierce hunger. The death knight swallowed hard, tearing eyes off the sword while the ache turned to a dull throb. "To protect you," he whispered, voice betraying his weakness.

"No," she said, "to protect this. To protect _him_." she pulled on the thorium chain and the locket snapped off. She threw it at the death knight's feet. Tenderly he picked up the cracked glass and opened it.

Empty.

Panic overrode the sense of hunger coming off his sword. Wide eyed and breath catching his head snapped up to look at the necromancer. "Mistress-"

"I took your weakness and ate them: I took your hunger and your hurt and your pain and your suffering and your helplessness and your sorrow and I made it so that it would never bother you again."

"The locket," he panted, hands shaking, "it's empty!"

"Yes. I took all of your memories and ripped them all out, save the ones that served me well. I put them into this sword." She stroked the handle with some fondness. The sword vibrated in anger, not liking that one bit." Did you ever wonder why it's called Widower? I gave it that name, before you ever rose from the table to begin service as His champion.

Rayne screamed. The shock of the sound and the sudden silence that followed rocked Mell'marie back on her heels. The Druid was pointing a shaking hand at the pile of furs. Five in total. "Oh, my Elune! Oh, Elune, be of grace! Druids," she screamed, "Druids, all of them!"

Mell'marie looked closer, spied the upturned moon on one dark blue pelt. He stomach sank. Cat skins. Bear skins. One spotted Dishu-form. All of them dropped in such a way as to make sure the moon symbol showed. Several people ran from the clearing, looking for the nearest push to vomit into. Never had they seen anything like this. Druids were cats or bears sometimes, but they were still _people_. Even Taurens get the honor of not being skinned because they are still _people_. The Father began praying. The sword like that even less.

"Why? You monster! Why skin them?!" Rayne didn't wait for the answer before rushing the necromancer.

A single bolt of dark energy shot out and hit her square in the chest, taking the enraged elf to her knees instantly. It could have killed but did not, opting to hit the sternum instead of aiming for the heart.

"I didn't, " the necromancer said, "he did. No doubt he told you his favorite dish is kitty tar-tar. What cats do you know of native to the Plaguelands? That is how the sword got it's name, after all. Mated male Kaldorei druids, each of them, come to find out what happened to the Guardian. He slew them all with this sword and fed on their souls to keep himself alive. Do you think he's still worth avenging now?"

When Rayne only sobbed into the dirt the necromancer dismissed her, turning back to the undead man before her. He closed a fist over the locket and took it to his chest, sobbing over the lost contents. There had been a small lock of aqua colored hair in it once. His hair was aqua colored. But the hair in the locket had been too fine, too clean to be his.

Opening his eyes he looked up at his mistress, "The lock of hair-"

"I hid my own memories in the hair. Each individual strand held a single memory. I trust myself enough to know that if I ever took a memory out for any reason to leave it be. Never was I tempted to retrieve them."

"Then why?"

"Because you weren't there to protect me. I took out all my memories of _him_ and put them into this locket the same way I took out all of yours and put them into this blade. The Lich King has given me all my memories back, all my weaknesses and all my failures. Now," she raised the blade above her head, filled it with an unholy amount of dark power till it vibrated through space, lighting up the clearing in surreal purple, "I give you back all of yours."

She brought the blade down on the paving stones at her feet, shattering it with one blow. A gale of anguished souls flooded forward, running out as bears, cats and leopards of all shapes and sizes. Though he tried to run there was no escaping the wave of black magic which hit him back a lifetime's worth of memories. The blade's anguished hunger became his own.

A dark-skinned beauty in a plain brown cloak sleeping in the sands by the side of a moonwell. Loner. Himself as a bear running headlong into coming danger, two paladins at his back and 37 others on their heels. Overhead dragons flew, leading the charge. Death and hiding and the comfort of knowing at least he saved one of them. A baby with aqua colored hair. Andorhal and being pushed back another two blocks by advancing Scourge troops. His rage. Children crying and Scourge thick as flies. A dark-skinned necromancer reaching out as he fell from Acherus. He grabbed her hand, didn't let go. She screamed all the way to the ground.

Thanis screamed with her. And screamed. And screamed.


	24. Chapter 23

~* Author's Notes *~

I'm sorta rushing through the climactic last few chapters of this story. I had it all planned to be gloriously burdened with (porpoise?) details and lots of angsty drama. However, it's taking forever to write and you know how these things are?

Second:

Alonea is not scheduled to leave for Northrend tomorrow.

She lied.

Sorry for the horrendous line breaks, but FFN erased every subtle or classy device I tried to use to convey change of scenery and PoV.

"Before our Innocence was lose

You were always there

Filled with lucky 7s

And a voice that made me cry."

_Song to Say Good-Bye_, Placebo

~*~ Chapter 23 ~*~

~ Light's Hope Chapel ~

* Ten Years Ago *

Thanis screamed. He fell away from Acherus hold, plummeting to the ground miles below. The priestess he drug with him screamed into the upward rush of wind, clawing at him to let go. He pulled her and and held on, feeling all the love for his mate, his starry night, rush through him. She beat at him, crying and pleading, not wanting to die like this.

"It's over soon," he whispered in her long, dark ear, "they won't be able to salvage what's left. We'll go to the Dreaming Star together."

He was wrong. It had only been the beginning.

~ Light's Hope Chapel~

*That Night*

Thanis screamed. Cowering in the corner of the crypt he beat at the walls and clawed at the floor, thrashing with the pain of memories he didn't need to remember. His voice had left him hours before, head still thrown back and mouth open, wailing in torment.

Around him in the room the ghosts of five druids stood on their hides and watched him silently. Rayne had tried to gather the hides, but the spirits had stopped her, angry, protective. She tried to sing them into the ground but they would not go, unwilling to leave the mortal plane. The death knight didn't know how they got into the crypt, or how he got here for that matter, nor did he care. The hunger and the guilt and the memories of all those he couldn't save shredded his guts and left his soul bleeding. The five druids who owned the skins were the 2ed though 6th druids to have their soul taken by that runeblade, and his had been the last to come out.

~ Light's Hope Chapel ~

Alonea shattered the runeblade on the flagstone path. The ghosts of the 5 druids rushed out, as she knew they would, wailing with the anguish of being captured in the unnatural piece of metal. They first went to their hides, the last physical remnants of their mortal forms, but finally found their killer. The last soul to walk out of the dying fragments of rune-forged metal was Thanis' own.

The image caused a lump to form in her throat. Unlike the wailing, pathetic example of a female kaldorei in the too-bright and very dirty dress, Alonea could keep her shit together. Face hard, hearth aflame, she watched the image shimmer to life and walk towards it's body. Half a foot taller than her, if you don't count the impressive set of antlers, he bore a robe of organic matter: vines woven into cloth, leaves and blooming branches in yellow and gold. If you didn't understand Druid magic it looked like he just rolled down a hill, but Alonea knew ever twig and every leave was infused with forest magic. Infused with the essence of _him_. At least, the him that had been before she drove his magic out and filled him with her own. The aqua colored hair gleamed in the overcast sunlight, shimmering in the breeze. She had loved his hair, down to the last strand. Nights spend huddled together in the dark recesses of Ahn'qiraj often ended intimately when she found out how much of a turn on having his hair messed with was.

The image didn't turn back to her once, not once. He didn't show her his face, not like she remembered it: bright with smiles and beaming with life, amber eyes glowing softly, almost shyly. Just for an instant she wished he'd turn back. Just for a moment she wished he would look at her, say something, tell her he understood why she did it. He didn't.

~ Light's Hope Chapel ~

The death knight howled to see his own soul coming for him. Try as he might the roots held. The pain of the rune-hunger and the confusion of suddenly getting back a lifetime's worth of memory mixed with the terror of knowing what the soul meant. He begged, pleaded, yelled, threatened, "No. No! NO! Noooo!" To no avail, The gentle hand of the ghost reached out and lightly touched his head where one of the antlers had, been before Alonea cut them off. The barely-there stumps of bone were the opening the spirit needed and seconds latter it was inside him again.

The next second he felt the link between him and his mistress break. Now, he was utterly himself again. Now he was utterly alone.

~ Light's Hope Chapel ~

Alonea stayed long enough to feel the link between them break. Now she could leave. Now she could tell the Lich King it was done and she would take Him back to Northrend with her.

"What did you do?!" Lord Raymond demanded.

"I gave him back his soul, his memories. I cut him off from the Lich King's Will. He is truly and utterly himself once more."

The priestess from before, the little human girl who thinks she is good enough to serve Elune, ran over and blocked her exit. "What did he do to deserve that? You made him a monster and then you punish him for what you made him do? He had no control over any of it but now he must suffer the memories?" She seethed and added, "You call doing this to a druid 'educational'? What exactly did you learn, Alonea?"

Alonea smiled, motioned the child over. Hesitantly she came, exchanging unsure looks with Lord Raymond. When she drew near the necromancer put at tentative hand on her shoulder, leaned in and whispered something in her ear. The priestess drew back in shock. Backing up quickly she let the necromancer turn and go. When Lord Raymond tried to stop her the priestess gave a short, sharp command to allow the necromancer to leave.

Alonea smiled. Politics. She was so very good at something she hated so very much. Time to cast the last piece and, if she were not mistaken, win the game. It had not been a simple tutorial that prompted her to get Koltira to witness this. She plucked his string and he landed the gryphon right in front of the gates. Before the archers could get a light off they were gone into the sky back to Acherus. He had been hovering over the hold watching the entire time.

The rest of it they would watch with the eye located in the Hold. It would be quite a show.

~ Light's Hope Chapel~

* That Day *

There was a bear running around the military housing area. At least, that's the original report. Mell'marie followed the bears thrashing and roaring all the way. It ripping up grass and destroying tombstones. When he got into the housing area it was evacuated. They let him tear it up. It could be replaced, Mell'marie said, but the bear couldn't. Sometime during the night the death knight had fallen asleep as an elf and woke up as a bear.

Mostly.

The heavily scarred, misshapen form looked like an experiment gone wrong. Alonea had messed up somewhere. Thanis had been unable to be both a death knight and a shape-shifting druid while linked to the Lich King. She remembered him telling her that infected druids who shifted would get stuck. With the link broken and his memories restored the first thing the former Cenarion had done was assume his familiar bear form and start rampaging.

First he went after the ghost that plagued him, only to find them non-corporeal and therefor hard to mangle. Enraged that he couldn't make the spirits leave him alone he took to terrorizing the civilians. Mell'marie had shackled and shocked him into leaving that idea behind. It didn't take much though and it scared the priestess to admit that in his bear form he was stronger than her. By a lot. If not for fresh memories of being subdued by similar tactics he surely would have just plowed through.

Now he took his aggression and pain out on tent flaps and cooking fires, shredding the one and setting himself alight with the other. The flaming result then took to the horse corral and brought one down with amazing agility, only to start wailing in distress and let it go. He ran back towards the crypts then, priestess in tow.

Mellmarie gathered the druid pelts and chased after him, not sure what was going on. At the entrance of the crypt he stopped suddenly, caught sight of the moon and began lowing after it. Sitting sharply he began lowing and lowing and lowing. The sorrowful song brought tears to her eyes and Rayne out of hiding. The druidess sat nearby but as soon as the deathnightbear caught sight of her, he turned into a sickly looking plague-cat and tore off after her. Shrieking in surprise the druid took to the trees. The death knight had already demonstrated an inability to climb trees. Apparently this extended to all his forms. He sat under her, tale lashing and hairless face peeled back in a feral snarl. It wasn't till she shadowmelded that he left her there.

Back in bear form he discovered that he could blight the ground as a bear and did so under the crops in the farmed area. The tomatoes died instantly. Immediately he began roaring and whining and discovered that he could also un-blight the ground. This discover brought with it a need to see if he could do it again. Making his way over to the area where he had been forced to get a bath and took the blight out of the ground there as well.

Mell'marie stared, amazed, at the now perfectly healthy ground and the beardeathknight who was finally tiring. He called to the moon for another good hour before hiding from Her judgmental Eye inside the crypts.

~ Acherus, The Ebon Hold ~

* That Day and Night *

Koltira Deathweaver took a shaking deep breath. Everytime he saw the malformed, plague-infected body shapesift into another animal he felt his stomach turn. Beside him the necromancer who turned both he and the other into champions of the Lich King stood smirking.

He was afraid. Damned if he'd ever been afraid of anything in his existence as much as he feared his mistress at that moment. Behind them the Lich King's grin matched Alonea's.

"Well done," the undead prince applauded, "I believe you have fulfilled your end of the bargain, Necromancer. We're leaving for Northrend as soon as I near word of victory from Necrophasia." He clasped a hand on Alonea's shoulder and walked back to His quarters.

Alonea wouldn't let Koltira look away even after the Lich King was gone. She made him stand and watch all night and into the next morning. It wouldn't be so bad if Thanis had not been her pet, if he had not been her _chosen_. He was her favorite of them all; the one never allowed to leave her side; the one she saved all her patience for; the one she constantly allowed to get away with things none of them could.

It took Koltira about a year in service of the Scourge to realize that Thanis was special. Not only was he the only Druid ever to be turned Scourge (they key, apparently, was to take away their ability to shift), but he was also immune to Alonea's personality. She swore at him and he laughed it off, even when she was mind-flaying him into submission; she hated children despite his success rate at bringing her "children" to train into well-skilled necromancers; she constantly complained about the food but would eat anything and everything he served her out of his own two hands. He annoyed her and she didn't throw him off the hold; he disappointed her and she didn't replace him; he constantly got on her nerves with the constant bad singing and yet she didn't remove his ability to sing.

Except that one time. But no one talks about that one time.

This time, however? This time she destroyed him. This time she broke his runes and gave him back his soul. It wouldn't matter. Without a runeblade he would know only endless hunger with no way to feed his runic abilities. The runes kept death knights alive. If they weren't fed the death knight could die, turn insane or worse. It wasn't freedom. It was an eternal and agonizing existence filled with memories of everything he had ever done.

The though of not being attached to the Lich King's Will terrified him more than anything else. Runeblades could be replaced, provided one had a runeforge to make them with. But alone with all those memories and only your own will to sustain you? Thanis was suffering the worst punishment that had ever been imagined for death knight.

He gave Alonea points for creativity. His own blade, Byfrost, was safely locked in a vault. All the death knights on Acherus were devoid of runblades. Every safe spot in the hold must be stuffed with them by now. Alonea's inventive way to punish traitorous 'knights would not doubt precede her into Northrend. The rest of his brothers, those exalted champions who called the Ebon Hold home, would no doubt shutter to hear the name 'Runebreaker' spoken to them in hushed wispers. She was about to be become Northrend's version of Nekov(1)!

Koltira wished his brothers in undead good luck.

Koltira though though that since Thanis was Alonea's 'baby' surely there would be some time frame in which she would free him from the torment. Either kill him outright or convince their Liege to allow him back into their folds, lesson learned.

His jut wretched again, the blue tattoos on his chest, back and arms flared in response. Without a runeblade and no access to a forge Thanis would soul-starve. Every death knight knew what that was like. It was their initiation into killing. They were kept under until their rune magic's need was almost too much and then awakened. Given a choice of blades, they were first instructed don how to forge runes on them, and then given innocence to butcher. The overpowering need to feed the runblade overrode any residual 'good' left in them. They reveled in the death of innocent life because it ended their pain. From that moment forward they were irrevocable under the Lich King's Will and became His forever.

Thanis no longer had the Lich King's Will to drive him. He still had the hunger though, and the need to kill to feed the rune magic. Only now he had not way to do it. Koltira shuttered and didn't care who saw. Every death knight in the world was afraid tonight, and none of them had Alonea Runebreaker personally pissed off at _them_.

Koltira took out a piece of paper and began scribbling before he even realized what he had decided to do.

~* End Notes *~

Cid "Cigar" Edgar; A.K.A. Nekov, a shortening of Neck Off, his favorite way of killing undead. A Forsaken 'urban legend' who serves as a human counter point to the boogy-man, only for misbehaving, free-willed undead. Rumors about sightings have flared up in Tirisfal Glades over the last few weeks, but so far no Scourge have come back to report for certain if he really does exist. The Lich King suspects the Banshee Queen is using scare tactics to keep the Scourge out of Tirisfal Glades and has instructed Necrophasia to report back with her findings.

Good luck with that


	25. Chapter 24

~* Author's Notes *~

This story is starting to taper off. I've elected to do the last few chapters in a quicker style of writing that cuts out sensory details and a lot of dialogue in favor of getting the story out on paper.

~*~ Chapter 24 ~*~

~Light's Hope Chapel, Next Morning~

~ Acherus, the Ebon Hold, Next Morning ~

Thanis sat starting at the floor. Five ghosts, now just part of the scenery watched him in kind. A priestess sat in the far corner watching the ghosts watch him. On the steps, under the pinned-back light, infused tapestries sat a living druid watching the priestess watch the ghosts watch him. At the top of the third landing Lord Raymond watched the druid watch the priestess watch the ghosts watch him. The Father watched Lord Raymond. Commie Nick watched the Father. The blacksmith watched Commie Nick.

Mograin watched Alonea watch Thessarian watch Koltira watch the blacksmith. Koltira and Thassarian headed into the Plaguelands shortly thereafter, off on the mission set to them by the Lich King.

~ Light's Hope Chapel~

* That Afternoon *

The undead druid-thing ran circles around the entrance of the crypt. The priests had erected a holy barrier to discourage him crossing into the more delicate areas of the settlement. Already the property damage his maddening rampages were causing would eat up Lord Raymond's budget for the year if he didn't get them under control. They couldn't stop him tearing up the trees nearest him, lowing, crying, whining, moaning or otherwise making every noise his two forms were capable of producing, but they could at least try to control the radius of damage.

If he were an elf once in a while he would just start screaming until either shackles or roots bound him to the ground where he worked himself into such a fit he would turn purple, nose bleeding and pass out. The bruising on his arms and legs was only getting worse each time he shifted into elfin form and plagued him greatly, no pun intended. Most of his time was spent in bear form either running his head repeatedly into anything that held still, trying to pound out the things he didn't want to remember, or loudly and lowly lamenting the things he couldn't help but remember.

"This has got to stop," Commie Nick was said in a conversation earlier that day, "it's been nigh on two days of his constant screaming and bellowing. It's depressing me! It's depressing everyone!"

The Father was elected to approach Mell'marie about what to do with her captive. Attempts to talk to it had failed, ending with him running in the other direction as if the Lich King himself were coming to find him. He was literally afraid of and hated and mourning everything that moved and most things that didn't and all at once, no less. He found a butterfly wing in the garden and cried for hours, taking up the time between breakfast and lunch with caterwauling loud enough to be heard at the Bulwarks, they were sure!

"You try talking to him because I've already tried." The priestess was beyond frustrated, "He just runs away. Elune forbid I get him into a corner because them he acts like I'm going to bet him to a soggy pulp, pleading and whimpering and trying to hide."

"At least," Rayne said, "get something else on him. Your cloak was a nice gesture, but what is left of it barely covers his noble garden eggs. Kaldorei children do not feel shame for our bodies, but I understand human children are instructed to do so. There are enough children here to warrant my concern."

_Balk to talking to me again?_ Mell'marie though, _That was fast_.

"Try to understand what he's going through," the Father said, "Just getting back his free will and his memories of what he's done? Being betrayed like that? Finding out the truth about his... necromancer friend."

"Mistress," Mell'marie replied, "The word he used was 'mistress'. I feel it fits; power over someone who doesn't have a choice, who might be – probably is – in love with you." After a long silence she said, "I'll see what I can do. If I force him to hold still long enough he may come down out of whatever level of insanity he's retreated into and at least let us know... something."

It was silently understood that while the death knight was no longer up for torture, he was still a prisoner and still had valuable information. The force field, while not as strong as Mell'marie's shackles – which only worked on his elfin form – worked to deter him from straying. The few trees in the vicinity of his range had been shredded to stumps and then cried over for hours.

Folks were starting to find excuses to go outside the hold and finding no shortage of guards willing to go out with them. Never had so many offered to gather fire wood before! There was no where to go inside the walls where you couldn't hear the keening cries of pained death-druid-knight and want to cry out in response.

~ Light's Hope Chapel~

* That Night *

Mell'marie shackled him in elfin form but he shifted to feline form. The missing patches of hair and miss-matched appendage sizes really threw her off. Talk about something that looked like it crawled out of the grave. One eye was milky white, the other glowing blue and some of the teeth were missing. He figured out earlier that day that his druid forms were stronger than her shackles so all he had to do to leave her presence was shift and run off.

This time was different though. He shifted but sat still. It had been three days since he had eaten and after trying everything else Mell'marie remembered what he said about getting hungry and horny. One of the things she was not willing to think about but food certainly was an option. Suddenly his frequent bouts of falling asleep made sense to her considering that in a former life he was a cat.

Current life?

Anyway.

The bowl of food sat between them. Fresh biscuits, sausage patties and eggs. He eyed it, paying attention to something for the first time in two days. Snapping her fingers she got his attention, focused it on her. The one dead eye creeped her out, as did the slight smell of decay.

"Food?" she asked, pointing to the bowl with her fork. She took a small bite of egg.

He had killed one of the chickens and then proceeded to sing it into the ground. The act had shocked the Rayne, who didn't understand how he could have control of natural magic while at the same time still be bound by the rune magic of the death knights. Mell'marie's answer was simple: he's Kaldorei and that's how they bury their dead. Being a death knight doesn't stop him being Kaldorei. Rayne wasn't convinced.

Slowly the feline focused on the bowl, a great effort on the part of the mind inside the body. Finally he turned into a elf. When he didn't run or attack Mell'marie allowed him to edge closer and slowly dropped the chains holding him. He edged closer and closer. Finally his hand is reaching for the food.

They eat in silence. She allows him the largest portion of the bowl, having gotten enough for two people to begin with. Kaldorie had appetites like the beasts they ride into battle. A water skin made it's way from the priestess to the death knight and he drank it all in one parched go.

"More?" she asked.

He shifted into bear form and ran away. The priestess sighed, slowly putting the dishes into the basked they came from and heading after him. It was her job to keep his property damage to a minimal. Lord Raymond agreed he didn't need to be kicked out of Light's Hope but obviously he wasn't intereste din hurting anyone... yet.

They still didn't know what circumstances brought him to the Lich King's doorstep anyway. Could be he volunteered, like his mistress. Could be he ran into the wrong group of people while out for an early morning pee. Could be he got drunk and stumbled into the Lich King like that one thief they read about who is now a rather renowned death knight in these parts.

The next day proved another success. He slept for the better part of the morning – a whole three hours before he woke screaming from nightmares – which is still better than the few minutes he was snagging here and there and still weak up screaming.

He actually showed up at the morning food line, looking like someone with a fifteen day hangover and coming down hard off some drugs that even Trolls won't touch. Trolls will smoke their ancestors bones if they think they can get high off it. The children stayed well away, as did the civilians. He stumbled past several paladins and their glowing swords half-cocked and into the table before readjusting his aim and making it to the eggs. A handful found their way into his mouth before he spotted the scoop. It ended badly when he realized he just put his filthy hands into the communal food pot and promptly ran away sobbing.

The priestess found him in a den he was digging under one of the trees and tossed in some biscuits. He ate them as a bear but wouldn't come out until latter that afternoon when she lured his feline self out with bacon. He had to shift into an elf to drink out of her water skin and then spend the rest of the day starting at a patch of dirt.

On the fourth day he finally spoke. Rayne was chasing him around with a hairbrush and a damp cloth trying to get some of the dirt off his face when he dripped and she managed to snag the brush through one of his forlocks. Blushing furiously he yanked the brush out of his hair, threw it on the ground and snapped, "I'm taken, thank you!" before storming off.

Rayne turned such as shade of purple that Mell'marie had to catch her before she fell down. The druid wanted to run but in the clearing she finally caught him in there was no where to hide and _everyone was looking at her_. The priestess understood her embarrassment. She quietly reassured the druidess that in human society sexual assault has to involve more than a brush and a single lock of bangs. Yes, even if the man is the Kaldorei equivalent of married. Rayne disagreed, but that's cultural differences for you. A non-bonded woman did not touch the hair of a bonded male in her culture. But she hadn't known he was taken! Oh, the shaaaaame of it. Rayne sulked away to hide.

During dinner that day Lord Raymond volunteered to take over watching the brute so the priestess could get a full hour's sleep. She and Rayne were back on speaking terms again; almost friendly. The pair settled into roasted potatoes and the remains of Mell'marie's strider stew – Rayne's favorite from the homeland- and were sitting on the palisade walls watching the sun set when there came a commotion above them.

Mell'marie's first though was how the druid got into the air, and then she realized it was a flying thing. Druids don't fly. (1) She stood, trying to see it clearly. As it neared it became apparent it was not anything she had ever seen before.

Rayne recognized it, "Attack! We're under attack! Scourge flying in!" She leapt down off the wall as if it were not 15 feet in the air and didn't spill a drop of her stew. Mell'marie floated down. The troops were assembled faster than she though possible. Everyone was carrying weapons and half-armored all the time, what with a death knight non-druid with a history of biting people running about.

It had been days since he'd slept properly and he had only been passed out for a few minutes in his den in under the tree when a single skeletal gryphon landed beside the tree and two heavy stones hit him in the head. The rider of the gryphon dismounted with a whole sack full of stones. He was wearing only a white undershirt and gray leather under-armor pants. It was apparent he had pulled his gear off rather quickly before hopping on the gryphon and gunning it. A necklace of white bones hung around his throat; probably trophies but no one was willing to ask him from what.

"Get up, Deadsong!" _Thump_, hit him right between the eyes. "Or you going by Bearsong again?" When the lump just rolled over a sharp object made it's way into his ear canal and bit down. Howling, he rolled over, swiped at it with a paw at least a foot across, and caused a rain of dirt when the eight inch claws scratched the roof of his den. Opening his eyes the non-druid's mouth dropped open. Groggily he rolled out of the tunnel, turned into an elf and rubbed at his eyes.

"What. In. Fell. Are. You. _Doing_. Here, Koltira?!"

"No one asked me if you could have friends over," Lord Raymond snapped, sword pointed between the shorter elf's shoulder blades. "No, the answer is no! Leave, now!"

The intruder ignored him, the same way he ignored the arrows put to his mount as he was flying in. Said arrows painted the underside of the gryphon like porcupet quills and were giving the creature something to do while it waited to take it's rider back to the Hold.

The white elf put his hands in the air, "Lord Raymond," the metallic voice was smooth, cultured, reasonable, "Do I look armed?" Lord Raymond checked him, his mount and the bag of items he brought. Before he was done checking the pristine newcomer grabbed the wobbly, dirty Thanis by the wrist and pulled him away. "I require the use of a forge. I'll be quick. I think."

"Aye?" the blacksmith didn't like the sound of that. When did they start accomodatin' Scourge at Light's Hope now? "Yeh not be getting' my forge for yeh Scourge goings-on."

The white elf bent over and looked the dwarf square in the face, "I'm defying orders to save this man's life. Do you want to be the one to take the blame when he snaps and you all die?"

"What are you talking about?" Rayne asked.

The white elf continued down the hill, parting the soldiers as if they weren't there. Something in is attitude was hurried, reckless, careless. He almost ran into several swords before they were moved out of the way. Lord Raymond had not given the word to attack.

The undead druid pulled him to a stop, "Brother, what is this? She'll left me for dead. She'll do the same to you. She didn't take your memories but if she breaks you from the Lich King you'll care a lot more about the things you've done than-"

"Do not lecture me," the white elf snapped. Under his breath he added, where only the closes could hear, "This is my doing. I intend to fix it. We are brothers after all. She made a name for herself betraying you. Every death knight shivers to hear the name _Runebreaker_. You were her masterpiece, some even say her lover before she brought you into the Master's service, and she gave you up like it was nothing to her. If you can fall under her feet, then who is next?"

"I willingly fall under her feet. You need to get back on that gryphon and leave while they're still too stunned to react. Please. Don't die for me. There has been enough of that already."

Koltira ignored him and continued downy he hill, dragging the unfortunate Thanis along. When they got to the forge the weary elf sat down, tired: too tired to stand and too tired to fight. Four days it had been and four days without enough sleep or food. He was too tired to fight. If Koltira wanted to do something stupid then let him.

"This is a terrible rescue mission." Thatis wasn't looking at him, had his back to the forge, so he didn't see Koltira change the magic of the forge from fire to fel-flame using incantations and a summoned ball of ether magic. "You left Byfrost at the Hold."

The blacksmith's eyes went wide. He crossed himself and backed up as the white-haired elf began his series of chants that was literally transforming his forge into something sinister. "I don't need Byfrost."

That got Thanis attention though he still didn't turn around. "No?" he laughed, "You don't need a runeblade to feed the rune magic?" He was mocking the arrogane Quel'dorie, something Koltira was quite used to, though it still irritated him.

"You've fed since you been here, havn't you?" Though it was directed at the siitting elf Mell'marie's eyes went wide with fear. Who had he killed and eaten their soul? Who died on her watch? How come no one told her about it?

Thanis was quite. "That's not the same," he said. "They gave it to me." He could hear Koltira moving around behind him, setting up some kind of work station using the blacksmiths tools. The blacksmith would never, ever touch them again, and probably move the entire operation to the other side of the compound once Koltira relinquished the site. Was Koltira planning to forge him another blade? That dinky little forge wasn't going to make a runblade, that was for sure!

"It's exactly the same, Deadsong. How many more druids do you think are going to volunteer to go under your blade just so you don't have to take an innocent life to feed the rune magic that keeps you alive?" Koltira spat on the ground to show his disgust with the lesser races, "I find it all pathetic but the Cenarion are mightily attached to their Guardians, even providing for their well-being after death. Do you think they drew lots?

"Shut up!' Thanis snapped, "I didn't ask them to come looking for me."

Koltira thumped him on the back of the head with something metalic, "You didn't refuse their offers either. Though she took those memories right out of you each time you agreed to it. Better you think you're something wicked and evil."

"I'm a death knight: wicked and evil go with the calling."

"You sucked at being a death knight, Deadsong. Even your sword hated you." After a pause and some clinking Thanis felt his back get very hot. "On second though it was probably because you wouldn't feed it more than one druid ever 2-3 years for over a decade. I'd be pissed too."

"Widower is gone and destroyed and the pieces flung to who know where. Unless you can make another one – and I know you cant in that little forge – I suggest you bugger off and leave me to die alone."

"You don't need Widower just like I don't need Byfrost. I don't tell the others that, of course."

Thanis was intrigued, turned around to see his death brother's face. When he saw the green light and black metal of the previously gray and red forge he jumped up in surprise and scooted back. He never liked fel-green: no druid really ever did. Even the Lich King didn't, though it couldn't be avoided in the color scheme of a place that manufactures plagues. The runes Koltira was busy etching into the metal with the tip of a long, metal nail started glowing blue after he blew on them and recited the proper incantaion.

"What..what? What are you doing?!"

"I'm forging new runes for you."

"You're what?"

Koltira untucked the ends of his shirt and drew it over his head. The rippled abs and chiseled physique he was known for in life only added to the beauty of the glowing blue runes permanently etched on the white skin of his pecks, shoulders and across his back. "The Quel'dorie are magic incarnate: death cannot take that gift from us. Just like death cannot stop you from giving Kaldorei funerals to chickens." He spat again, "The first time I was captured and rune-starved I found a way to etch the runes on myself. It is a prototype, good for emergencies. I experimented on some.." he looked around at all the prying ears, "... volunteers. I perfected the art."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're not going to die. Hold onto your ass, Deadsong. This is going to hurt." There was a series of metal magic wands sitting on the edge of the forge and leaning into the fel-green coals. He grabbed on, grabbed Thanis and pressed it into this skin. Drawing it into a series of lines he began etching the first runes.

Thanis voice was gone in the first five minute of screaming. By the time the sun fully set the first lightly glowing rune was complete. "On down," Koltira said pulling out his piece of paper and studying the scribbles by the light of his own eyes, "Only fourty-one more to go!

~ End Notes ~

1). This story is set pre-BC, when no one had world flight.


	26. Chapter 25

~* Author's Notes *~

This is technically the last chapter of this sub-story.

_Highwayman _by Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, and Kris Kristofferson really describes the evolution of Warcraft characters and universe. I feel this song fits the evolution of the Death Knights especially (if you look at it from the warcraft universe perspective); they started out as simple folks, died, kept living, kept working, probably died again and then came back around to being the simple, everyday hero they started out being before Arthas got ahold of their souls.

~*~ Chapter 25 ~*~

Thanis' voice was gone in the first five minutes of screaming. It didn't mater what he turned into, a cat or a bear or an elf, there was no getting away from the much stronger elf. In the end he wound up with glowing blue runes in every one of his forms. His attacker-savior even manged to force the elf into his Dishu form but he was out of it and back into his bear form before any runes could be applied.

In the end the assaulted druid lay panting in the dirt, whining in agony and bleeding profusely. Over him the victor stood, mediculously wiping blood from his tools with a clean cloth. Studying the cooked red juice of life on one wand he made an interested noise and continued cleaning.

Koltira turned to the priestess then and asked, "What did the mistress say to you when she was leaving? You let her go so I'm very curious to know the answer to your question."

The words had been plauging Mell'marie as well. Not the first part, the part about "I am Alonea, the best necromancer in the world, and they will never know what I am capable of. I kept this _death knight_ with me for the last decade and no one -not even the Lich King Himself-knows the truth of my masterpiece!" It hadnt been those words, it had been the ones where she leaned closer, spoke directly into the girls' ear canall. Just four words and Mell'marie's perceptions of what true mastery of necromancy entailed were rocked.

The priestess shook her head, "That is for me to know. I am not of her ilk and I will not betray a secret for the likes of you, pretty as you are."

Koltira smiled, pausing in his cleanup. It had been years since anyone had bothered to tell him he was lovely to behold. The compliment was nice. These beings, though diseased with 'living', were polite if nothing else. The dwarf had even allowed him to use the forge and Lord Raymond hadn't tried to kill him not once. Of course, their system of honor prevented a lot of actions that were for their own good, really. Whatever. The Scourge early and often used that fact to their advantage. He continued to clean his tools.

"I'd suggest," he told the wounded bear at his feet, "that you do something to stop the bleeding. Your blood is still tainted, even if you're _aldoron_ once more." He used the Quel'dorie word for people who get too close to nature and start to become it. It was seen as a weakness in their culture to turn to natural, gentle magic when real power was readily available. This translated well to an afterlife amongst the power hungry Scourge. "I'd also suggest leaving Light's Hope as soon as possible." The last part was directed at the priestess.

"Why?"

"Because once they find out he's not dead they'll come looking for him. Alonea will want him back. You need to take him away, for his sake."

Mell'marie was confused, "Want him back?"

"Yes. To put it bluntly, she is looking for a replacement Kaldorei. Barring getting her hands on that one," he motioned to Rayne, "she's tracking one down herself. It's only a matter of time before she realizes her former pet isn't dead, all puns intended, and comes to either finish the job or collect him back."

"Why are you trying to help him? Isn't your loyalty to the Lich King such that anyone who pisses him off pisses you off as well?"

"I'm not helping. This is for me. I want her off the Hold and into Northrend. Things are still running like clockwork, but that woman is a time bomb. Kaldorei are notoriously uneasy to make into good Scourge minions, but fel if she isn't the best necromancer outside the Citadel. The one caveat, that she be allowed to keep a Kaldorei pet with her at all times, just fell through and shit just got real."

Mell'marie's brows furrowed, "And what am I suppose to do with him? He won't talk to me or go near me without screaming and thrashing about. Where am I suppose to take him?!"

The white-haired elf planted himself for a second, lowering the tools he was taking way too long to clean, and shook his head, "That's not for me to decide. Somewhere far away, somewhere on the other continent. Take him to Moonglade, Ashenvale, Silithus – it really doesn't matter. Leave this place at once."

"And this has nothing to do with the fact that you're sharing your secret for rune tattoos and don't want to get caught?" Lord Raymon almost laughed.

Koltira glared but surprisingly agreed, "Yes. He's one of you again, Scourge no more. Me doing this is... part of my programing. However, I will still be punished if they find out." He looked intensely at Lord Raymond while sliding his tools back into their neat bag, "I don't suspect you'll say anything to anyone. None of you will. Your honor won't allow you to betray someone who helped your ally even if I am a card-carrying champion of the Man you all seek to end. I'll get away with this, and no one at Acherus will be the wiser. Provided," he pointedly shook a finger at the priestess, "you do as I command and take him away at once."

Rayned had one more question, "Can anyone else do this?" The softly glowing, bloody tatoos stood out sharply in the matted, greasy fur of the wounded druid's bear form. She gently patted at them with a damp cloth, careful not to touch his blood. The cloth would have to be burned latter.

"No. Just me. There are circumstances that have to be met. He and I are the only qualifying candidates. You'll see no more death knights with these tattoos, ever. I imagine we were not designed to be allowed to do this on the assumption that any death knight who strayed would rune-starve and return eventually. They always do, thinking they are something special and the King will take them back. He never does and He never will. Acherus has the only runeforge outside the Ebon Hold, as you well know. We are meant to be bound to the runeblades, not allowed to run free, using runed teeth and runed claw to do the work of a runeblade."

"Why only you?" Rayne peeled back the bears massive upper lip with the cloth and sure enough there was a black and blue rune etched into both canines. Smaller runes found their way onto each of the five claws on his front limbs.

Koltira stopped for a second, introspective. "I am Quel'dorei. We are magic incarnate. I was chosen because of my skill blending melee fighting with frost magic." He laughed a little, "Before the Fall I was an apprentice tattoo artist specializing in the human-style tattoos using ink and vibrating mechanical devices. My teacher taught me elfin styles first, thankfully, for those are the ways in which magic can best be imported into body modifications. These," he indicated his sculpted chest, "were done with a jerry rigging of engineering castoff parts and letter writing ink. It was sloppy. This," he stuck a bare toe into the fur of the bear at his feet, "is based on Quel'droei style tattooing. I doubt the Scourge will take up magic tattoos as my former race does, but it would be interesting to see what we'd do with it if we did." The revery lasted a few moments before he realized he was rambeling. Clearning his throte he indicated it was time for him to take his leave.

Lord Raymond looked to stop him but the bear on the ground shifted under Rayne's rag and stood. The druidess had managed to use some of her magic to stop the bleeding, though it was not her specialty. "Brother," the pained man said, "what becomes of me now?" The bare skin of his body bore softly glowing runes in many shapes. Some of them almost made pictures. No part was spared, down to the heels of his feet and the length of his ears.

"We are brother's no more, traitor. Take yourself out of the Plaguelands. Leave the Eastern Kingdom if you can. The priestess can look after you. That is her purpose, after all."

"Go where?" Thanis reached out for Koltira only to find the other elf stepping back and away. "Who would have me? After what I've done, who would give me sanctuary?"

Koltira grinned mischievously, "Did she castrate you when she raised you, Deadsong? Surely not. When have the Cenarion turned anyone down in the past? They still consider you one of their own, do they not? Go to them."

Mell'marie stepped forward, not liking this plan at all, "No. He's suppose to be payment for me to get across the Bulwarks and into Tirisfal Glades!"

"For what purpose?" Koltira whistled sharply for his mount to come to him, seeing as he wasn't getting out of the circle of paladins. Seconds latter the flapping could be heart. The beast had fallen asleep after picking out the last of the arrows. "Go back to Ashenvale where you belong, little priestess. I'm sure whoever you owe loyalty too would like to have you back." He smiled brilliantly, gleaming white teeth in the moonlight, "Tell them of how you rescued a druid from the Ebon Hold and laughed in the face of the Scourge as you swept him up and carried him off. I'm sure they'll buy it."

"I cannot! Not without Kayas, not without my sister who is lost in Tirisfal Glades."

"A druid?"

"Oh. That druid, then. Explains a lot." The elf nodded, thinking. "She's better off where she is. Take this one instead. They're the same thing, really." He really wanted Thanis out of the Plaguelands, soon.

The priestess scoffed, "Him? To Ashenvale? Instead of Kayas? No! Elune gave her to me and-"

"-She would not separate you unless she sent another to take her place." Rayne quoted the girl slowly, coming to a realization. "Did you not say that yourself? Perhaps this was meant to be."

Mell'marie stopped, not wanting to admit she had indeed said that. At the time it had just been words, mostly. A way to get them to acquiesce to her demands. She didn't think it would turn out to be prophetic. Slowly she looked up at the Kaldorie death knight in front of her, freshly printed in runes and struggling to remain sane long enough to finish this conversation and lope back to his den.

A long stretch of silence followed in which the pieces finally finished clicking into place. This must be it, then. This must be what Elune sent her here for. The ghost back in Ashenvale had told her to stay, even the high priest had. The warlock had threatened to kill her friend if she came after her sister. Mell'marie had assumed she would figure out a way around both high priest and warlock when the time came, but now...?

"Yes," Mell'marie said blinking, "I believe you may be correct. Elune understands these things far better than I do. It makes no sense to question Her judgment. If She has taken my druid from me and replaced it with another – one I rescued from the Scourge, no less – then this seems fate to me. Yes."

Thanis was confused, "What?"

Turning towards him she held onto the ends of the cloak around his hips as the gryphon landed and the Quel'dorie climbed aboard. The Argent Dawn did nothing to stop him as he heeled the beast into motion. Once in the air, the turned the wing-of-bones on a dime and took something from around his neck. Holding it over the other death knight's head he let go. Thanis caught it with both hands. Koltira spurred the beast into flight. When they were well out of way, Mell'marie let go of the cloth.

The forge instantly began crumbling into the earth, becoming an inert pile of ash. Not even the faintest traces of fel evil remained in the area. The runes etched into the metal had dual purpose with cleanup in mind. Koltira had quite a knack for designing and writing runes. The priestess wondered what all the 42 symbols on the non-druid would do for him, other than help him convert the souls of the things he kills into rune magic.

Pointing to the elf's face she ordered, "Get your things. We're headed to the Moonglades. You still know the teleportation spell? No matter, I can find a mage. Get going!" Blinking and a little afraid, the death knight ran up the embankment to the crypts. The remains of his armor and … things... were stored in one of the shelves made empty when it's occupant had risen from the dead.

Once inside the crypt he opened his clasped hands and looked at the necklace. Bones. White bones. Thanis closed his eyes, put the necklace to his forehead and tried not to cry. There had been enough crying. Koltira, with this one gesture, snapped him out of his self-loating and spurred him to action. Too bad they were enemies now. The next time they met it would be with teeth bared, full tilt to see who could kill whom for the glory of their respective masters.

He didn't for a second think that Alonea was done with him. No matter where he went she would be able to find him. She had also brought Koltira along to watch her display, knowing as they both did Koltira's weakness to keep the peace. One way or another the Quel'dorie would find a way to fix what he blamed himself for messing up.

Why couldn't things just go as planned. All he wanted to do was get a nice present for his mistress to make her day a little better. Why was it so hard to do a nice gesture for a friend when you're a member of the Scourge? _Well_, he though while stringing the bones around his throat, _I'm all out of kind gestures for the Scourge._

~ End Notes ~

1). Running errands for anyone who tells you go 'go fer' this and 'gofer' that. Originally a term to describe people in low-level, subservient positions to the rich and powerful it can also be used to describe those who do low-level quests in intermediate questing zones as well. Mell'marie was one such person before she left Ashenvale in search of her druid.

This is the last chapter of this section sub-story. I had intended it to begin with Thanis wanting to do something nice for the Scourge and wanted to end it when he finally turned on them, fully thankful that his gesture turned into salvation for his soul. There were suppose to be a lot more details to these last several chapters but this story took over my writing time, and thus had to be forced to conclusion.

Sure, Mell'marie and Thanis have more going on after this, and Alonea as well, but I am not writing that until/unless it becomes time to. For now I am going back to writing "The Cat in the Bag: The Druid Pawn."


End file.
